


Dum Spiro Spero (While I Breathe, I Hope)

by GavotteAndGigue



Series: Dreamscape [3]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), The Sandman (Comics), Under the Red Hood
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bat Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Jason Todd-centric, Jason-Centric, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Suicidal Themes, Trauma, self harm trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2019-01-25 07:22:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 105,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12526036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GavotteAndGigue/pseuds/GavotteAndGigue
Summary: Dum Spiro Spero- Latin for "While I breathe, I hope"Jason has a new teacher -- none other than the wiley blond Englishman, John Constantine, and Jason might be adjusting a little too well to this new partnership for Dick’s and Bruce’s liking.Meanwhile, Batman has begun searching for the missing dreamstone that may be the key to restoring Jason's memories.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, well I hope some readers of the first two fics in this series are still around! I have been sitting on this the last few weeks, because I've had a hard time finding time to write, but I want to get this out there so I don't sit on it forever. I don't think I can do weekly updates with this fic like I did with the Bonesaw Spider... to be quite honest, that was really grueling. But I will still try to be fairly regular. Sorry, I've just been tired lately. I sleep like 5 hours a night. Its catching up to me :O
> 
> NOTE: You should really read the first two fics, “In Dreams We Promise” and “The Bonesaw Spider" for this one to make sense. 
> 
> Warnings: past rape, kinda sorta suicidal themes, warning in case that triggers you

~~~~~ Jason ~~~~~

“Why the hell did you bring me here?”  Jason sighed.  He was sitting with John Constantine in literally the worst dive bar he had ever seen. And that was saying something, because Jason grew up in the worst of the worst in Crime Alley.  

This place though, he should have known the moment he saw the sign.   _Bar Minimum._  No kidding. The interior was exactly that. Plastic tables and folding chairs. And its clientele were pretty much the worst losers from all over Gotham.  Normally Jason wasn't so judgemental, but most of the people in the bar were middle-aged, overweight, and greasy men who probably got kicked out of the strip club next door for being too _grabby_.  And they were all giving him creepy sidelong looks out of the corners of their eyes.

“Just take it easy, kid.”  Constantine was perched on the barstool next to him.  He pushed a pint of some kind of amber brew toward him with one hand, and took a swig off his own pint with another.  “We’re just two regular mates havin’ a bevvy at the pub.”

“Sure we are,” Jason snorted cynically.  “Just some regular joes.  Except people are staring.”

“S’cuz you’re too damn fit a bloke to be hanging in a place like this with the likes of me.”  Constantine swirled to lean back against the bar, looking back at the rest of the clientele with a cheesy grin.

“What?”  Jason had trouble understanding him sometimes.  It wasn't just the accent.  It was the odd colloquialisms, and sometimes he just couldn't tell if Constantine was joking or serious.

“Bloody Americans.”  He took another draft of what Jason presumed was some kind of cheap beer.  “Means you're too handsome for your own good.  You look like you should be working next door.  They probably think you’re for hire.”

“Oh.”  The strip club next door was a _gay_ club.  Jason glanced at Constantine, and though he would never be mistaken for a stripper, it wasn't as if he blended in with their current clientele either.  He had a kind of rough, edgy, disheveled look that was both charming and bad ass.  Rangy and cocky -- he had that rockstar attitude.  If rockstars ran around in a dress shirt, tie, and rumpled trench coat.  Constantine somehow managed to make looking like shit kind of sexy.  That, coupled with an easy-going nature made him disarmingly convincing, if he caught you unawares.  

Here though, the two of them together stuck out like sore thumbs.  Jason knew, by reputation and having spent the last couple months learning magical cheats from him, that Constantine was a total ass.  But he wouldn't have brought him here just to gloat at having Jason around as arm candy.  No, he brought Jason here for a reason.  This couldn't just be some random dive bar.

From the moment Jason had walked in, he had been uncomfortable.  There was just something about the place that made Jason feel uneasy.  Constantine had told him they were going out for drinks.  To unwind a bit before getting supplies to show Jason the workings of demonic incantations.  He had been a little taken aback at the choice of venue, but figured Constantine was just a cheap bastard. 

Now that he was paying attention, and though it was extremely faint, he felt a tiny prickle.  Like an itch under his skin.  The telltale sign that there was magic or evil present that had the All-Blades wanting to come out.

“Oh you did not!”  Jason groused, realizing what this was.

“What?”  Constantine played innocent.

“You did!  You brought me to the scuzziest bar in Gotham so you could test me.”  Jason crossed his arms in indignation.  “Fuck you.”

“Believe me, I would love to kid, but that pretty boyfriend of yours would tear me pieces off.  Not to mention your _dad_.”  Constantine laughed mirthfully at his own joke.  “Here, have a bifter. Oh wait, you Americans don't say that.  A cig for you then.”

An offer of reconciliation. Fine. Jason took it.  Dick didn’t like it when he smoked, so he found himself refraining more often than not.  But Jason did enjoy his vices, and apparently so did Constantine.  He leaned in as the other man offered a light, inhaling a hot breath and letting the nicotine sink in.  It felt good.  At least one thing going for this dive was no one batted an eye that they were smoking.

“Come on, take a pull of this too.”  Constantine pointed at the pint of beer.  “Betcha you’ll like it.”

Jason eyed it suspiciously.  He had brought fake IDs, but this place was so seedy no one had even bothered to card him.  Fuck it, he would give it a go.  He was already here, and if Constantine was going to try and poison him then well, he would have an angry Lord of the Dream to contend with.  He was probably safe for now, so he took a gulp, and… it was surprisingly good.  Really good.

“See?”  Constantine said cheerfully.  “I wouldn't  mess you about when it comes to drinkin’.  Imported British ale.  High end stuff.  Best of the best.”

“How does a place like this afford to import high end British ale?”  Jason noted there was a sign that advertised two dollar happy hour drinks.  Most of the other customers were drinking bottles of Miller or at the higher end, Corona.  Not many people drinking what was on tap.  

“This stuff ain't on the menu,” Constantine smiled.  “And they run a black market magical trading post out back.”

“Of course they do,” Jason rolled his eyes.  “In Gotham, if it ain't drugs or guns, then it's illegal magic bombs.”

Jason had been surprised to learn that Gotham had a rather lively magical underworld.  It flew almost completely under the radar of the bats, mostly because the circle of dealers and customers was small and tight.  Few of their dealings were deadly or harmful.  Most of it dealt with minor relics and magical artifacts that went to clandestine collectors with too much money on their hands.  Still, anytime there was black market dealings, magic or not, there was bound to be someone evil lurking around.

“Eh, maybe not bombs so much,” Constantine took another swig of his brew.  “More like magical trinkets.”  He didn't appear to be concerned at all that there was something faintly evil lurking. He had set this up on purpose. He was up to something.

“Okay then,” Constantine leaned in close, speaking quietly into his ear.  “Now pay attention.  What's here?  You're currently masked, but you’re not the only one.  With your talents, you should still be able to tell.  Who here is it?”

Constantine had drawn a masking sigil on his chest back at the apartment.  It was meant to hide any hint of his abilities from any demonic or otherwise interested parties.  It had required Jason to take off his shirt and lay still as the symbols were painted onto his skin.  Constantine had done it several times over the last couple months, and though it made Jason uncomfortable, he refrained from any sort of needless groping, so Jason allowed it.  However, it seemed to make Dick _angry_.  Constantine flirted, and it was slightly irritating, but just shy of being truly offensive.  He never actually tried anything.  Jason would have punched him if he did, but Dick hovered around every time, until he finally asked, “Is this something I can learn to do for Jason?”

“Sure,” Constantine replied.  “But it ain't something you want to screw up if I'm taking your man here out.”  He flipped open the book he had brought -- the grimoire -- to a page of cryptic symbols.  He handed Dick a piece of paper, “Practice makes perfect!”

Dick looked annoyed, but to his credit, he did set himself down to study the symbols.  Once Constantine had finished though, he had wanted to come with, but as always, Constantine forbade it.

“I’m not taking the both of you out so you can make goo goo eyes at each other,” Constantine wagged a finger at Dick as he spoke.  “Jason needs to focus.  Sorry love, but you're staying home tonight.”

“I’ll be fine Dickie,” Jason had soothed.  “Anyway, you were going to help Bats tonight with the drug traffickers.”

Dick reluctantly agreed, and they went their separate ways, which led Jason to the present. Sitting in a dive bar with surprisingly good beer, trying to surmise which of their fellow bar patrons was secretly evil.

Jason swallowed another draft of the amber brew, took another drag from his cigarette, and blew out a long breath.  He felt relaxed and calm.  And he could feel that subtle itch again.  It was close.  He scanned the room, watching as the perverts and slimeballs averted their eyes as Jason met their gaze.  Nope. None of them. He turned to look behind him. The bartender.  

Jason had noted him briefly when he came in, but hadn’t deemed him any immediate threat, other than his size.  He was a large man with a sallow complexion, bald, but with a long and thick dark beard.  Constantine had chatted him up while he was ordering drinks, and Jason had turned his attention to scan the rest of the room.   Now however, he was looking straight at Jason, and when neither of them averted their eyes, the man grinned.

It was him. There was something about him that wasn't quite right now that Jason was looking.  Feeling it.  Opening himself up to the subtle itch under his skin.  He looked like a man, but he wasn't.  Jason stiffened slightly as he approached, but instead of addressing him directly, he looked at Constantine.

“Who’s your friend John?”  He had the hint of a brogue.  Irish probably.  “Haven't seen you bring him by since you started hanging ‘round Gotham.”  

“Kid’s a curious sort, if y’know what I mean,” Constantine leaned forward, elbows on top of the counter.  “Dave, this here’s Mason.  He wants me to show him a few tricks with your knick knacks out back.”  He punctuated that last statement with a wink.

_Mason?_  They hadn’t talked cover stories at all, and now Constantine was insinuating that he was some stupid kid who was trading sex for a chance to play with magic.  It wasn't a bad cover, given their appearance and Constantine’s reputation, but Jason would have preferred to have a chance to prepare.

“He’s quite a looker, he is.”  Dave reached out a hand but Constantine slapped it away.

“Careful, he bites.”  It came out like a joke, all teeth and smiles, but Jason could see a slight warning in Constantine’s eye as he looked at Dave.  He took the hint, and backed off.

“Ah, a mean one,” Dave shrugged.  “You sure know how to pick ‘em, John.  Well, let me know when you want to get out back.  Don't let that ale go to waste before go.”

Constantine had already finished his drink, and just raised an eyebrow at Jason and nodded to his half full glass.  “Shame to waste a good imported beer.”

Jason downed the rest of the pint and slid off the barstool, ready to follow Constantine into wherever the back room was that Dave kept his black market magics.  However, Constantine shook his head.

“Dave, would you bring me a gin and tonic.”  He smiled at Jason again and then waved two fingers back at Dave.  “Make it two.”

“Are you trying to get me drunk?”  

“Aren't you a bright one!”  Constantine chuckled. “Yea, mate. You're always so wound up.  Turned up to eleven.  Live a little, eh?  Don't you know how to have fun without kicking someone's arse?”

Dave set their drinks down, and Constantine immediately raised his glass.  “Cheers mate!”

Jason sighed and lifted his glass.  He knew this was a bad idea.  Getting trashed with John Constantine would most certainly lead to no good, but it had been a long time since Jason had been out like this.  Constantine wouldn't have been his first choice in drinking partners, but Dick was too overprotective these days, Tim was too uptight about being underaged, Roy had been an addict -- and he had burned his bridges with him anyway --  and that didn't leave many people.  Jason didn't really have much of anyone in the way of casual friends….

So here he was, drinking a gin and tonic while Constantine rambled on about someone named Chas, and before he knew it Jason had downed a second and then a third glass of gin, and was throwing back a fifth (or was it the sixth or seventh?) shot of whiskey as John Constantine -- _“Call me John, all me mates do!”_ \-- blathered on about how he used to be in a band.

“Punk rock?  Seriously?”  Jason giggled.  Oh god he was _giggling_.  He was well beyond tipsy at this point.

“Hey, you have no right to judge,” Constan-- no, _John_ \-- declared.  “I’ve heard that shite blasting out of your apartment.”

“Ugh, that's not me!”  Jason put his face in his hands, laughing.  “That's Dickie!”

“Christ, kids these days!”  John slapped his arm.  “That stuff’ll poison your head.  I hexed the stupid player so he’d drop it in the toilet, but then next time I came ‘round he had signed up for bloody _internet radio_.  Took me a while to figure out how to blow your speakers without it pointing back to me.”

“Oh shit!  That was _you_?”  Jason was laughing so hard he nearly fell off his stool.  “He was pissed for like a week.  A whole damn week!”  He wiped at his eyes, trying to suppress his sniggering.  “Don’t do that shit to him.”  Jason was utterly failing at hiding his amusement.  

“Leave him alone,” he tried to sound serious again, but then burst into another fit of laughter that he tried to hold in.  It ended up coming out like another damn _giggle_.  He had to stop.  Grown-ass men did not fucking giggle.  “Fuck, I am so hammered.  What the hell did you give me?”

“How was I supposed to know you’d be such a lightweight?”  John was lighting another cigarette.  “Come on then, we better pay the tab and get on to the back before you pass out.”

Jason fumbled for his wallet.   _Jeez, his coordination was complete shit when he was drunk_.  He shuffled out a few bills, not bothering to count how many, and slapped them down on the counter.  Dave the bartender was there, making to grab the cash, but Jason’s alcohol-addled brain belatedly realized he was still covering it with his hand.

“Hey hey hey!”  John was suddenly slapping Dave’s hand away again.  “What’d I say about being grabby? Boy’s mine.  No touching!”

He yanked the bills out from under Jason’s hand and pushed him off the stool he was sitting on.  Normally Jason was solid on his feet, but his head was spinning from the alcohol, and he ended toppling over and landing on his ass.  Embarrassing.  

“No need to be so rough, John,” Dave admonished from behind the bar.  “Kid’s already off his tits.”

“Sorry kid!”  John was pulling him up by the arm.  “Let's get you to the loo.  You're right sloshed.”  And then turning back to Dave, “We’ll meet you out back in a few.”

Dave hollered at someone, presumably another bartender, to “man the counter!” and John guided him back toward a door marked “Gents.”  Thankfully, it was a one-person restroom, and John pushed him in and shut the door.  

“What was that all about?”  Jason asked, after he had finished and John had taken his turn.  They were walking down a back passage, Jason stumbling drunkenly over his own feet.

“Don't let anyone touch you,” John chided.  “Dave’s an orc. Masked and glamoured.  He's hiding as much as your are.  Your inhibitions are down, and you could have accidentally blown his glamour with that purification shit you do.  Or he could have sensed you’re not just some two bit trick I picked up in the alleyway.”

Jason stopped and leaned against a wall to let his intoxicated brain catch up.  An orc?  Like _goblins and orcs_ kind of orcs?  John didn't look like he was pulling his leg this time.  He was probably being serious.  

Jason let that settle in.  Damned drinks were making his head slow and fuzzy.  “And you didn't think that was important to tell me before you got me piss drunk?”

“Would have ruined the test,” John smirked.  “Now you know you can spot ‘em, even an orc with a masking sigil carved into his soul.  Not an easy feat, mate.”

“Yeah, I’m just full of surprises.” Jason leaned against the wall, trying to sober himself through sheer will.  He couldn't recall the last time he had gotten himself this wasted. He wasn’t sure he had really ever let himself get to this point voluntarily.  

“That you are.  That’s why you're the Fun Robin.”

“No, that's Dickie.”  A wave of melancholy washed over him.  “I’m the failure.  The Dead Robin.”

“Not anymore you're not.”

Jason closed his eyes for a moment as the world seemed to spin around him.  John was oddly silent, but he could still smell the smoke of burning nicotine in the air.  John was still standing close.  

“Don't pass out kid,” John was slapping his face. “Night's still young.  We’ll prove you’re the Fun Robin yet.”

John pulled him forward until they reached a narrow door that looked like it was a broom closet, but it was locked with a strange looking padlock that had some kind ugly gargoyle face on it.  They stopped in front of it, and John looked back at him seriously.  “Don't forget what I said.  And don't talk here.”  He was eyeing the ugly monster lock suspiciously.

Jason nodded, and rested his head against the wall again with his eyes closed.  He was seriously shit-faced drunk.  How many drinks had he had?  He couldn't quite remember now, and he didn't have a good sense of how much time had passed.  He wanted to pull out his phone to check, but he was holstered under his jacket, and in his current state he wasn’t sure if he could unzip his jacket and pull it out without broadcasting that he was armed.  Fat lot of good it would do him now anyway.  His vision was so blurry and uncoordinated he probably couldn't even hit a sitting duck if it were more than a few feet away.

He opened his eyes again as a heavy footstep preceded the approach of Dave.  He gave Jason a bemused look, before reaching into his pocket to pull out a jangling ring of keys. He flipped through them until he found the right one, and inserted it into the mouth of the ugly monster-faced lock.

“Open yer goddamned gash, ye ugly git,” Dave murmured at the lock.  Jason was not as surprised as he should have been, when the lock murmured back, “Fekyou Dave!”

Dave ignored the grumbling lock as he pushed the key into it's mouth and twisted.  There was more garbled cursing, and Dave opened the door and walked into the room. John followed and Jason stumbled in after them.  

The overhead lights were dim, and Jason looked blearily around him, trying to take in the environment without falling over. There were lighted display cases lining the walls, filled with what looked like old antique knick knacks. Jewelry, small carved wooden boxes, figurines of all shapes and sizes.  But there was a strange buzzing energy all around them.  For a moment Jason thought it was the drunkenness, but as he took a step closer to one of the jewelry cases, he felt the buzzing increase.

There was a gold medallion hanging from a jewelry rack that caught his eye. It was octagonal in shape, about the size of a silver dollar, with wavy etched inscriptions encircling a small symbol.  It looked like a… goat?

“Whazzat?”  Jason was a little surprised at how inarticulate that came out.  His tongue felt dry and thick in his mouth.  He tapped his finger against the glass until he caught John’s attention.

“Hmm.”  John’s eyes were glittering with interest.  “Hey, how much for this one, Dave?”

“Er, are you sure you want that piece, John?”  Dave had his face scrunched, like he had eaten something sour.

“Sure sure, the boy likes it.  Dontcha see?” John seemed unconcerned.

“I suppose I could let it go for ten.”

“Ten!” John exclaimed. “Robbery that is!”

They haggled for a bit as Jason leaned his spinning head against the cool glass, still looking at the medallion. He had never been much into bling.  It mostly got in the way of being a vigilante and was too flashy.  The medallion was definitely flashy.  It looked like pimp jewelry, but for some reason, Jason wanted it.

“I’ll take it,” he found himself saying, and fumbled for his wallet.

“No no.  You’ll need to wire it.”  John stuffed his wallet back into his jeans pocket.  “Not unless you got five grand in cash.”

Five _grand_? Oh.

“No, I said eight, John!” Dave protested.

“Six and a half!”  Jason blurted out.   _Holy mother of fuck!_  Did he just say that out loud?  Was he really going to pay that much for a stupid necklace?

“Deal!”  Dave seemed a little more pleased than he should have been at cutting the price down. Was he trying to get rid of it?

There was a blur of movement, and John pushed Jason out of the way as Dave unlocked the case and took out the medallion.  It glinted prettily as it hung from a long linked chain before Dave dropped it into a velvet pull string bag.  He produced an electronic tablet from inside a pocket -- must have been some deep pocket, Dave was a large man -- punched in something and then then held it out toward Jason.

Jason just stared at it.

John grabbed the tablet and put Jason’s hands around it.  “You got to wire the money kid.  I’m sure Daddy Moneybags has some account you could pull from.”

Oh.  Wire the money. Right. Jason managed to recall the numbers to one of his untraceable accounts and punched it in.  The tablet disappeared out of his hands and was replaced with the velvet bag. He could feel the weight of the gold medallion in it.

“Thanks Dave!”  John was pushing him out the door.  “Nice doin’ business with you again!”

He followed John out another door into an alleyway, and then John was pulling at his arm.  

“We should check it out away from prying eyes.”  He was reaching a hand up to the fire escape of the strip club next door.  “Are you too sotted to climb?”

It was a large building, formerly an old Depression era theatre that saw hard times before it was converted into a club.  It was several stories high, and Jason thought briefly that it would be faster if he just used his grapple line. He wasn't wearing his body armour, but he had most of his equipment with him under his jacket, including his guns.  But the way the world seemed to _tilt_ as he looked up…. Yeah, too _sotted_ to grapple.  Climb it is.

Jason managed to get up onto the rooftop, only missing a step once, grabbing the rail before falling on his ass.  Once they were on the roof, Jason could feel the faint bass beat of the club music under his feet.  That coupled with his dulled drunken senses gave him a strange feeling of surrealness.  Like this somehow wasn't the real world.  Like a dream.   _Funny_ , he thought.  People often drank to forget, but he felt almost like he was _remembering_.

He shook the medallion out of the bag to look at it in the dim glow of ambient streetlight.  Gotham never really got completely dark in the commercial areas, and he could make out the lines of the wavy writing on it's surface. It looked Tibetan.  He looked around before unzipping his jacket, suddenly feeling a little bit overheated.  He draped the chain of the medallion over his head to hang around his neck.  He felt oddly pleased with himself, feeling a grin spread on his face.

“Jesus,” John commented as he eyed Jason’s holster.  “Why am I not surprised that you’re still packing.”

Jason shrugged.  “So what is this thing?”  He lifted the medallion in his hand to look at it again.  It took a few seconds for his eyes to focus.

“You’ve a good instinct,” John was saying.  “That there is a pretty good cheat.  You’ve just bought yourself a tulpa-in-a-box.  Er… or in a necklace.”

“A tulpa?”  Jason had learned about them during his time in the All-Caste.  An ancient Tibetan mystical technique used to create _thoughtforms_.  Entities made of mental energy and manifested through meditation.  Jason had never had the patience for it, as with anything too deeply magical, but with enough time and focus, he knew the entities could gain independence.  Eventually they could even be set loose in the world.  He had never heard of one being contained in a necklace though.

“How do I open it?”  Jason’s fogged mind was vaguely recalling the warnings from his old teacher, Ducra.  She had warned him against creating a tulpa recklessly, but this one was already created.  Already packaged up for him in a shiny gold medallion.  His drunken mind didn't see any harm in taking a peak.

“Dunno,” John was lighting another cigarette, and Jason put his hand out for one.  John scowled.  “You owe me a pack, mate.”

“Fuck that,” Jason snarked.  “You just made me blow six grand.”

“Didn’t _make_ you do anything.  And you got that thing _cheap_.  Don't think Dave knew what he really had on his hands.”  John flicked a cigarette over to him, which Jason fumbled at catching.  He held out a light.  “Tulpa’s been bound to the talisman ‘round your neck.  It's made of thought energy, so just _think_ about calling it forth.”

Jason blew out a breath of smoke and looked down at the medallion. Thought energy huh?  He could do that.  He looked at the little goat symbol in the center, and started thinking about goats….

Jason nearly jumped out of his skin when something dropped out of the sky and hit the roof they were standing on with a thud.  It bounced a few feet and then rolled to a stop.  Jason staggered forward to get a closer look.

“Oh shit!”  Jason laughed, the cigarette nearly falling out of his mouth.   “It really is a fucking goat!”  

It was so ridiculous.  The tulpa was actually a goat.  A damned goat!  Who would have expended so much mental energy just to make a goat?  It was lying on it's side, and at first Jason thought it was dead.  However, it slowly rolled again, limbs loose and floppy, before getting to it's feet.

“Baaa,” it bleated.  The goat was a mottled dark gray, with a white patch on it's face and a pair of sharp pointed horns.  It looked back at Jason blankly with it's strange horizontal slotted goat eyes.

“Um, hi?” Jason snickered and turned back to John.  “What the he'll am I supposed to do with a fucking goat?”

John looked extremely amused.  “It's not a goat. It's a tulpa.  Worst case scenario, you can probably use it as a distraction if someone's trying to kill you.”

“Heh, it's kind of cute.”  Jason reached a hand out to try and pet it's head, but the thing suddenly darted away.  It hit the edge of the roof, and Jason watched in shock as the goat toppled over the side, it's legs twirling languidly in the air as if in slow motion, before falling down the front of the building.

“Ooooooh shit!”  He scrambled over, almost afraid to look over the edge.  When he did, he saw the goat flopping around on the ground.  Several club-goers had gathered around to watch as it slowly picked itself up.  It looked unharmed.  

“Fucking A!”  Jason wheezed as he laughed.  “Is that thing made of rubber or something?”

“Nope,” John chuckled from somewhere beside him.  “It's made of thoughts.”

Jason looked over the edge again to see a large man had come from an alleyway to take a look at what the fuss was about.  He let out an obnoxious guffaw and Jason recognized that stupid laugh. Carlo “The Cat" Cataloni.  One of the local drug pushers.  He was small time in a major way, but that didn’t stop him from being one of the biggest assholes this side of Crime Alley.  True to form, he started kicking at the goat. Teasing it.  He managed to land a kick at the goat’s head.

“Hey!”  Jason yelled.  “Don’t hurt my goat!”  But no one heard him, he was too far up, and at the street level he was probably drowned out by the the dance music coming out the front of the club doors. 

The goat seemed to roll with the kick, lolled to the side before righting itself again.  “Check it,” Jason couldn't help from sniggering again, “my goat’s got them fighting skills!  Ha ha!”  

Then it promptly headbutted Carlo in the groin.

“Oh!  That has _got_ ta hurt!”  John was cracking up beside him.  “You better go get your goat though.  It looks like he ain't done yet.”

“S’cool,” at some point Jason found he had rolled onto the ground, still laughing.  “That's Carlo, and he's a fucking douche.”

“Exactly. And he's about to put a bullet in your goat.”

“What?”  He looked over the edge again, and sure enough, Carlo had drawn a gun.  Before Jason could react, he fired off several shots at the goat.  Jason reached for his holster, but John put out a hand and shook his head.  He pointed at the goat again. It was still standing.  

“Shiiiiit!”  Jason was finding it hard to form words.  “It's indest… indestrulnerable!”  

Fuck. That wasn't a word.  Jason was usually articulate.   _Damn that booze._  

“Baa.”  The goat was bleating again.  It cocked it's head at Carlo, turning it's head this way and that.

And then it attacked.  

It butted Carlo and sent him flying through the air several feet.  The other people around scrambled away in panic.  The goat managed to catch another bystander, kicking him with it's hind legs and sending him tumbling down the sidewalk.  The goat then rammed it's head at a nearby car.  It flew clear across the street and exploded in a giant ball of fire.

“Holy crap!”  Jason grabbed his hair in astonishment.  He couldn't believe what he was seeing.  The goat should _not_ have been able to send cars flying. The car shouldn't even have _exploded_.  “What the hell?  John!  How do we put it back?”

“Erm….”  John looked flummoxed.

Below them, people were screaming and fleeing in all directions as the goat ran down the street, darting in and out of clubs and restaurants and wreaking havoc.  He watched as the goat jumped into the street, right in front of an oncoming car.  It came to a screeching halt, but not soon enough.  The goat crashed through the windshield, and moments later the passengers tumbled out and bolted.  The goat flopped out of the car, head still wobbling, and proceeded to gallop away.

Drunk or not, they had to stop the thing.  Jason grabbed John by the lapels of his coat, anchored his grapple onto the roof and dragged them both over the side of the building.

“Bollocks!” John cried as Jason rappelled them down.  He barely managed to keep them both from breaking their necks.  His limbs were slow to respond and his grip too lax.  He hit the ground with a grunt, barely buckling his knees in time, and John went sprawling.  

“Come on!”  Jason tried to pull his sloshing head together and got to his feet.  He dragged John by the coat, literally throwing him into the open doors of the abandoned car.  Jason got into the driver's seat and floored it, heading in the direction he had last seen the goat.

He spotted it several blocks down, after passing a surprising number of wrecked cars and shattered storefronts.  The streets were in mayhem with people screaming and running to get away from the goat.  Jason hit the brakes as he saw the goat enter a corner gas station.  Seconds later the station attendant tumbled out the door and high-tailed it, screaming as he ran past them in the opposite direction.  The goat flopped out after him, rolling it's unnaturally pliable limbs around on the ground before springing to it's feet.  It began angling it's head side to side and  eyeing the gas pumps.

“Fuck!  We have to take cover!”  Jason jumped out of the car as the goat lowered its head and crashed into the closest pump.  He flung John by his coat into an alley beside the closest building and dove in after him.  The ground shook as a concussive wave of heat and fire blasted out when the gas station exploded.  The car they had just been driving was hit with such force, it overturned and erupted in flames.  

Jason poked his head around the corner as soon as the back draft cleared.  He saw the goat, standing calm and motionless amidst the flames.

“Baa,” it said.

“Bad goat!”  Without even thinking, Jason jumped out and wagged a finger at it, then pointed toward the ground.  “Come here this instant!”

Fuck. He was still _stupidly_ drunk.  His decision making was questionable at best, and now he had thrown himself into the path of a rampaging, indestructible, tulpa-goat.   _His_ tulpa-goat.  And he was scolding it like it was a fucking baby.

“It's made of thoughts, remember!”  John was hissing at him, still hiding out of sight behind the corner of the building.  “Just think ungoatly thoughts!”

“Ungoatly thoughts?”  Jason hissed back in vexation.   “What the hell are _ungoatly_ thoughts?”  

“Baa.”  The goat was trotting toward him.  It wiggled it's tail and swiveled it's ears forward as it approached.  

“Okay…. Ungoatly thoughts.  Ungoatly thoughts,” Jason chanted to himself.  Oddly enough, he felt himself calm as the goat approached.  He kneeled as it came closer, holding out the medallion in his hand.  “Nice goat.  Come on, girl.  You’re a girl right?”

It was close enough to touch now, and Jason tried to imagine a calm goat.  A peaceful goat.  A happy goat.  He reached his other hand to touch it's head.   _Her_ head.  He scratched behind her ears, and tried to imagine her back inside the medallion.  

“That's a good girl,” Jason crooned. “Nice goat.  That's my girl.”

A long tongue slurped out suddenly, and she was licking him in the face.  

“Bleh!” Jason fell backwards onto his rump.  He tried to angle his face to the side, but then got a goat tongue in his ear.  

“Eew! Stop!”  He laughed despite himself.  It tickled, and he was now covered in slimey goat saliva.  He held the medallion up.  “Back in you go!”

She licked the medallion, and in the next moment, she was gone.

“Oh thank fucking christ!”  Jason collapsed backward onto the ground.

“You did it, mate!”  John sprang out of hiding, and pulled him back up into a cheerful embrace while  patting him on the back.  “Right-o kid, that was amazing!”

Jason burst out into laughter.  It was all seemed ridiculously funny suddenly.  It must have been the alcohol, but the sheer absurdity of the situation hit him in full force.  All around him there were burning cars, shattered windows, and piles of rubble and debris.  Sirens in the background were drawing closer. The police and firefighters would probably be here within minutes.  It looked like there had been another alien invasion, but no.  It was caused by the stupid goat.  His tulpa-goat that wasn't even a _real_ goat, that had licked his face and stuck it's tongue in his ear mere moments ago.  He was struggling to form a coherent sentence as he rolled onto his side, choking down another bout of overwhelming hilarity.

“A fucking goat, John!”  He was laughing so hard his side's were hurting.  

John cackled beside him.  “And she liked you right there at the end.  She even tried to slip you the tongue. Right in the mouth, did she?”

“Ugh, no!  That's disgusting!”  Jason covered his mouth, trying to suppress another outburst of those godforsaken _giggles_ , but failing.  “And what about you?  Ungoatly thoughts? Seriously?”

“It worked, dinnit?”  John snorted and ruffled Jason’s hair, then retracted his hand suddenly.  “Uh oh!”

Jason looked up to see a tall dark form towering over him.  Batman.  Standing with his arms crossed and looking highly disapproving.  

And behind him stood Nightwing.

Jason collapsed backward again onto the ground, feeling like now would be a good time to pass out.  

“Oh, I am so wasted right now."  Did he say that out loud?  

Oops.  

So fucking busted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * For anyone who reads Rat Queens, I was channeling Orc Dave for Bartender Dave in terms of looks, though the characterization was way off. 
>   * I did not make the concept of a tulpa up. There really is a Tibetan mystical practice around the creation of tulpas. They can supposedly be mischievous and dangerous if left unchecked. Alexandra David-Néel, one of the first few westerners to have explored the practice, wrote about it in her books. I took a different spin on the concept for this, but it's a very fascinating subject. 
>   * The goat antics are based partially on the game Goat Simulator. It cracks me up everytime. I have three of the games on my phone. Hilarious!
> 



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, now moving from fun to some drama. Because I love me some drama and angst. There will be more fun in the future, I promise, but these next few chapters have to set up some things that are going on. If you haven't read the preceding stories this is where it will start not making sense. First chapter could survive as a standalone I guess, but it really builds on itself.

 

~~~~~ Bruce ~~~~~

Bruce watched as Jason flopped bonelessly onto his back amidst the flaming debris littering the street.

“Oh, I am so wasted right now,” he mumbled, and Bruce suppressed the impulse to smash the grin off the face of the man hunkered on the ground beside him. John Constantine.

“Hey!”  Constantine prodded Jason with a finger.  “No playing dead.  I can tell yer fakin’ it!”

Jason cracked a smile, eyes still closed, and snickered.  “Stop!  I’m just resting.  I don't play dead.  I _was_ dead!”

They were both inebriated, but Jason was clearly the more incapacitated party.  Nightwing -- Dick -- knelt beside Jason and hauled him up, propping him upright and draping Jason’s arm over his shoulder.

“Come on, we’ve got to move you two out of here.”  Dick did not look pleased with the situation either, but he seemed mostly concerned with getting Jason home at the moment.

Constantine grabbed at something entangled around Jason’s hand, a gold chain with a large pendant.  He wound it up and then reached forward to stuff it down one of Jason’s front pants pockets.  Jason seemed too dazed to notice, but Dick shot him a dirty look upon seeing the personal contact.

Constantine simply played oblivious. “Don’t let him look at that ‘til he sobers.”  He waved a hand and began stepping away.  “Well, I’ll be seeing y--!”

“Not so fast.”  Bruce caught the nape of his coat and hauled him toward the idling batmobile behind them.  “We need to talk.”

Constantine twisted in his grip, attempting to flee, but Bruce swung his feet out from under him to pin him face down on the ground.  He pulled a set of Nth metal cuffs from his belt and slapped them on his wrists.

“Hey!”  Constantine whined.

“Get in the car!”

Dick had already maneuvered Jason, seemingly passed out, into a back seat -- strapping him in and then climbing to sit beside him.  Bruce shoved Constantine into the front passenger side and initiated the locking restraints.  

“Jesus!  You win, yeah?”  Constantine settled into the seat and Bruce sped off.  “Always wanted to ride in the bat car.”  

Thankfully, the Englishman remained mostly quiet for the short ride back to Dick and Jason’s apartment.  Bruce swerved into a hidden alley a few blocks away from the building, entering the underground tunnels that connected to the secret garage.  He screeched to a halt once they were within a secured area, jumped out to open the passenger door, and threw Constantine onto the ground.

“You have some explaining to do!”  Bruce knelt over him, a fist in his shirt, hauling him a few inches off the ground.  “Did you drug him?  Or was it a spell?  What did you do?”

Constantine waved a hand in surrender, brought another hand to push at the fist under his chin.  Bruce noted he had somehow escaped the cuffs.  

“He’s just sloshed,” Constantine smirked.  “I didn't need to do _anything_.  You’re so worried about keeping your boy _safe_ ,” he punctuated with air quotes, “that you haven't noticed you’re smothering him.  He needs to _live_ a little.  Whatever's happening, it's eating at his soul.   _Killing him_.  Metaphysically speaking that is, and the weaker his soul gets, the more susceptible to possession.”

“And your solution was to further endanger him by getting him drunk and blowing up my city?”  Bruce growled the words out and slammed the man back to the ground.  “People were injured.   _Jason_ could have been hurt.”

“I’ll admit, maybe we got a li’l carried away….”

“This… _training_ is done.  You’re not to see him again.”  Bruce had been against the idea from the very beginning, but Dream had made some convincing arguments and Jason had been begrudging, but willing.  He had decided to let it play out, but it only seemed to prove that his original fears were true.

“That ain't your call.”  Constantine shoved at his grip, calling forth a flare of magic that forced Bruce to release his grip on the man’s shirt.  He picked himself up off the floor as Bruce regrouped.

“You’re not the one who threatened me with never ending nightmares.”  Constantine pulled out a cigarette again, lighting it and taking a first drag.  “And you and I both know your boy is one demon away from goin’ full Freddie Kreuger, and worse.  You need someone around who can stop him. You need someone around who can _put him down_ if it comes to that.”

“No!  It won’t come to that. That is not an option!”  It was Dick this time.  He had jumped from hauling a drunk and unconscious Jason out of the back seat to standing at a supportive tactical position when he had seen Constantine use his magic.  He appeared every bit as disapproving and angry as Bruce felt, pointing an accusing finger as he spoke.  “Nobody is doing anything to Jay.  Not while I'm still standing. And what you did tonight was reckless.  Getting him drunk enough to pass out is the last thing he needs right now!”

“No harm done,” Constantine smirked shamelessly around the cigarette in his mouth.  “The kid will have a hell of a hangover, but he managed pretty well tonight. Your boy doesn’t need any more coddling.”

“We’re not coddling him.”  Bruce cut in. “We're trying to protect him.  We’re trying to keep him safe.  You on the other hand, actively put him in danger.”

“Practical magic is what it sounds like, innit?  No use unless you put it into practice, yeah?  Kid’s a quick study, but I had to test his mettle -- get a feel for his instinct for this kinda thing.”  He tapped his cigarette idly between his fingers, knocking off a nub of ash before bringing the cigarette back to his lips.  “Jason’s got more than just instinct. He can pick out an orc through two layers of masking spells.  He honed in on the most powerful knick in a room fulla magical knacks.  He summoned a sealed _thoughtform_ just by _thinking_ about it while drunk off his tits.  If it ain't me trainin’ him, someone's got to, ‘cause that boy is downright _dangerous_.”

“I don't understand,” Dick seemed genuinely perplexed at Constantine's words.  “He never showed this kind of ability before.”

“You sure about that?  Me guess is he just never really tried.  Took some prodding for him to open to it.  Booze helped.”  Constantine gave a little chortle, mostly to himself.  “Either that or someone sealed most of his abilities until the demon broke through.  So what’re you going to do then, eh?  Still want to send me packin’?"

“We’ll figure something out with Zatanna…” Dick started to reply, but Constantine cut him off with scoffing laughter.

“You really think Jason’s gonna submit to being babysat twenty-four seven while he's in remedial Hogwarts for the next several years?”  He tapped the cigarette lightly again with his fingers.  Ash floated through the air, falling lightly onto the floor of the garage.  “Maybe your boy’s lovely ex-girlfriend -- Essence was it?  She up for a redeux?  Sounds like that went swell the last time they tried it.  Or bring back the bloke with the three mouths?  Your boy seems to like him _a lot_. ‘Cause that's what it's gonna take to defend in case of a full demonic attack.”  

Bruce balled his fists.  No, he didn't want the Corinthian, and even Essence around Jason anymore than was necessary.  But they couldn't keep Jason in hiding forever.  It was difficult, even these last several weeks since his arm fully healed, to convince Jason not to go out on patrol.  Constantine himself, and apparently the Dream Lord, had managed to get Jason to stay mostly confined to work on learning basic magical defense, but nothing short of forced imprisonment would keep Jason penned for long.  

At the same time though, Jason had taken to Constantine’s tutelage surprisingly well.  Dick had been keeping Bruce apprised of Jason’s progress, and it was true that they focused on things that were practical -- magic that Jason could easily use to hide himself or to create distractions, and that didn't require endless hours of meditation and focus.  It was mostly memorization of magical sigils and symbology, and using whatever source of power Jason already had already access to.  Constantine seemed to have a knack for keeping Jason interested, and he was turning out to be a better teacher than anyone would have guessed.

“You're likely stuck with me,” Constantine smirked knowingly when Bruce and Dick didn’t reply.  

“Shit,” Dick ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. “There's got to be some other way to do this.”

“Wot?  You think all he needs is a hug and a kiss to fix him right up?”  A furl of smoke curled around Constantine as he let out a breath.  “Ain’t gonna do jack when another demon comes knockin’ on your door.  You think you got the high ground ‘cause love is on your side and all that shite.  But let me tell you something.  Love ain't going to be enough to protect or even fix that boy.  He is who he is, and what he is, is broken. Nothing's gonna change that.”

“I don't believe that. I can't.”  Dick crossed his arms staunchly.  

“Dontcha now?  Well if you manage to fix him, it's gonna change him.”  Constantine’s tone grew sharp and bitter.  “Think hard about that, because it might mean you’re going to lose him a second time. Do you really want that?”

“No.  We’re not going to lose him.”  Dick shook his head.  “And it's not about changing him.  I just want him to get better.”

“Sorry to break it to you kid, but you can't have both.”  Constantine pointed at Bruce, “same as if you fixed _him_ you wouldn't have Batman.  Once broken, sometimes there’s just no going back.  You’re just gonna have to accept that he might be too far g--.”

“Enough!”  Bruce was at the limit of his patience for the Englishman.  “We are doing everything we can for Jason.  He’s our responsibility.  This discussion is over!”

“Says the man who let his son crawl out of his own fucking grave!”

Bruce backhanded him.  He hadn't even thought, just reacted to the livid anger that suddenly had him seeing red.  Constantine went down with the blow, but scrabbled up onto his hands and knees to mutter something under his breath.  A spell.  He shot his hand out, a blast of something hot and glowing, and Bruce and Dick dove out of the way.

Then suddenly there was a blur of movement, the arc of a slashing blade in the air, and Bruce looked back to see Jason, standing with his All-Blades out.  He had dissipated the bolt of magic.  He stood frozen for a moment, blades held low and legs in a wide ready stance.  But then he relaxed, the blades disappeared, and Jason just straightened up, teetering a little drunkenly.

“John, you'd better go home,” Jason slurred.  “I’ll text you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, um, sure.”  Constantine got up and a wooden door appeared out of thin air.  He opened it, looking back at Jason briefly before slinking through.  The door closed and disappeared.

Jason turned and made toward the elevator that led up to his and Dick’s apartment.  “I’m too fucking tired for this shit,” he grumbled as he punched the button to call the lift.

“Jay, wait!”  Dick barely made it into the elevator after Jason before the doors closed, and Bruce was left standing alone in the garage.  He contemplated following the boys upstairs, but Jason… he had Dick.  He would be well taken care of, and there wasn't much more Bruce could do other than check on the boys in the morning.

He got back into the batmobile and drove back towards the cave.  Bruce mulled over Constantine’s words as he sped through the streets.  The man was a menace, but what he had said earlier… that whatever was happening, it was eating away at Jason’s soul… it left Bruce feeling a swirl of guilt, grief and sorrow.  It was true that up until tonight, he couldn't remember the last time he had seen Jason laugh or smile without it being faked or put on.  He was always serious or angry, with a deadened pain reflected in his eyes.  Bruce was afraid Jason was becoming more like _him_ day by day, in a way that he _didn't_ want for his son.

Cold and emotionally distant.  Like Bruce was before Dick had first brought joy into his life again, and then the rest of his children had rounded him out with the warmth of family.  Jason had all the bats looking out for him, and then some, but they weren't getting through to him. Not enough.  Not even Dick to a certain extent.  Jason still kept himself mostly closed off, and it had taken that damned Englishman to put a smile back on his face.  A smile that reflected more of that mischievous young boy that Bruce remembered of Jason than he had seen in years.  Bruce growled to himself, gripping the wheel and turning more sharply than necessary as he careened into the Bat Cave.

He jumped out of the car and marched to the computer.  He flipped through the screens, disabling the encryption on an analysis he had been running. After the events of tonight, it was even more imperative that he find what he was looking for. The Black Pearl. The lost dreamstone.

As if on queue, he felt the temperature drop slightly, pings from the electromagnetic sensors in his cowl were going off, and without turning, Bruce said aloud, “I know you're here.  I take it you’re aware of what happened tonight.”

Essence materialized to his side, wisps of gray smoke evaporating as she solidified.  “Partially.  I mostly saw the aftermath, and then enough to know I need not intervene.”

“Perhaps you should have.  Whatever that thing was that they set loose -- that _goat_ \-- it caused nearly six city blocks of property damage.  Plus the explosion at the gas station.”

Essence shrugged.  “I am not concerned with your city.  And the situation was resolved by the time either of us arrived.”  She paused, poised to continue, and Bruce realized she was waiting for him to look at her.  When he did, she was giving him a critical glare.  “You underestimate his ability.”

“I don't.  I know Jason is capable, but this situation is different.  He’s not equipped to deal with this.”

“You may be surprised,” Essence gave a haughty sniff.  “He was trained by my people, the All-Caste.  He was trained by myself as well as my mother.  Jason is more equipped to deal with his situation than even you.”  Essence continued her dark glare, narrowing her eyes slightly at her next words.  “I am loathe to agree with the magician, but he is right. You are coddling him.”

“I’m trying to protect him.”  Bruce stood from his chair to face Essence, suddenly feeling on the defensive.   “It's not just his ability to fight. I have no doubt that Jason will use everything at his disposal, if it comes to that, but mentally… emotionally… Jason is compromised.  He’s too vulnerable to attack right now, and he doesn't need to be put at any more risk than necessary until we can get this threat contained.”

“You still see him through the eyes of a father.  It clouds your judgement.  Jason is stronger than you think.  My mother believed in him, and so do I.”

“This isn't about belief.”  Bruce was rankled at her implications.  “This is about making sure he’s prepared -- that he has the tools, training, and resources he needs if and when he’s attacked again. We almost lost him again because he didn’t have what he needed to defend himself.”

“I do not disagree,” Essence nodded, “but you know as well as I that Jason will not submit to being controlled.  He will do as he will, and if he sees you, or _us_ , as an obstacle he will not hesitate to find a way around.”

“I’m not obstructing him.  I intend the opposite,” Bruce returned.  “This isn’t about sheltering Jason.  This is about giving him back control.  If we can find this dreamstone, he can take back his memories.”

“Hmm.”  Essence seemed contemplative, dropping her glare as she stared at the screen Bruce had been working on.  It had a map, showing the results of the analysis Bruce had been running -- a list of possible locations for the dreamstone based on the symbol Dream had provided.  

It hadn't turned up much.  As with any of the searches and analyses he had run before on evidence of the Endless, references to them were obscure, often disguised as myths and legends attributed to other gods, but there were some close but not exact matches in ancient petroglyphs recorded across the globe.  Bruce had also incorporated worldwide readings based on the energy fluctuations he got off of Essence, as well as what he had been able to pick up from when the Corinthian and Dream had been present in the physical world.  The end result was over a dozen sites spanning the globe that needed to be investigated.

This was where Essence came in, though Bruce still didn’t entirely trust her.  She was extremely secretive about what she knew of the Endless, as well as with anything having to do with the All-Caste, including Jason.  Bruce suspected that with the former, she in fact knew very little -- the Dream Lord seemed to be neither transparent nor trusting, even if he was currently responsible for regifting her powers.  And with the latter, frustrating as it was, Bruce understood her want to protect the legacy of her people.  Even more frustrating though, was that Jason had been indoctrinated into it as well -- he wouldn't speak much of the All-Caste either.  He protected their secrets, and in turn Essence was very protective of Jason.  Bruce didn't like the fact that there had been some kind of intimate relationship between them, but she was respectful of Jason's boundaries for the most part, so Bruce overlooked it for now.

Plus the Dream Lord _had_ tasked her with helping to find the lost dreamstone, so for now he had trusted her enough to send her to investigate the sites.  Bruce had provided her with equipment to gather additional data, and her abilities allowed her to travel more efficiently than if Bruce were to go to each individual site himself.

“Did you get the readings and scans?”  Bruce asked.

“It took more time than anticipated.  I have only been able to visit the first four,” Essence replied and handed over the small scanner Bruce had given her.  She had covered some of the initial sites Bruce had provided -- ruins and neolithic structures across the Mediterranean.  “I recognized some of these sites.  Ancient sacred grounds and reservoirs of power.  They are strange places.  Dangerous.  Other than that, I am not sure what I should be looking for.”

Bruce loaded the data into the computer.  Without telling her, he had given Essence two sites with unusual readings, and two sites that were control sites -- sites that did not reflect any anomalies.  It was only the first of several sets he had come up with, but it was enough to get a next level analysis started.  He brought up the protocols, and began refining parameters when Essence spoke up again.

“If we find this dreamstone,”  Essence pursed her lips before continuing, “it may not be the solution it promises to be.  It may allow Jason to retain the memories the Lord Dream has suppressed to keep his mind intact, but memories can be a burden.  Perhaps it is better that he does not know whatever this has truly cost his soul.”

Essence had a point, and Bruce had pondered over the same thing over the course of the last couple months.  In the end he had come to the conclusion that not knowing -- not _investigating_ \-- was more of a risk.  Dick reported that Jason was still getting flashbacks, even falling catatonic and unresponsive at least once.  Though he came out of it quickly, it was apparent that the lack of reconciling his memories was keeping Jason from fully moving forward.  With the possibility that demons or other interested parties would actively be looking for ways to control him, finding the dreamstone would at the very least give him a choice.  As Essence had so aptly called out, it likely wouldn’t be a panacea to making Jason completely whole, but it might offer a step in that direction that they didn’t have right now.

“We’ll find it, and then it will be up to Jason,” Bruce finally said.  “I won’t force him, but I’ll do everything I can to help him.”

Essence still looked cross.  She didn’t like this, but she didn't voice any further dissent.  Instead she inspected the map again, and zoomed in on the next set of sites in the Middle East.  “I know this land well.  I shall go there next.”

“Return the data as soon as you have it.  It will help narrow down the search of future sites.  I've programmed a bio-lock into the computer.  You can only access the data input here.”  Bruce showed her how to open the screens.  He hadn't figured out a way to actually keep her out of the cave yet, though he had set up security measures to neutralize her in case she ever became a threat.  But she was currently an ally, one of the few that Jason allowed close to him, and there really wasn't any reason for Bruce to outright attack her at the moment.  Jason didn't appear concerned at all that Essence knew who they were and where they lived, and truth be told Bruce was starting to see her as an asset.  She was competent, powerful, and didn't mind using her abilities to gather intel as long as it was for the benefit of Jason.  She was as loyal and committed as any of them when it came to his most volatile and emotionally elusive son.

“Don’t let anyone see you come here,” Bruce added, “especially Jason.  He’s not ready for this.”

“No, perhaps not,” she sighed.  “Perhaps he never will be.”

Bruce didn't respond, and Essence took that as answer enough. She picked up the scanner again and examined the map one last time before disappearing into a wisp of smoke.

The temperature warmed slightly, the electromagnetic readings normalized. Bruce was alone once again.  

He called up the parameters for the analysis once more, bringing up an image of the symbol inscribed into the black pearl.  He had had to recreate it from memory -- though Dream had showed him an image in the physical world, his cowl cameras had failed during their conversation in the Acres of All.  He had only been able to record strange energy readings, which he was now using as part of the parameters of his search.  The symbol itself was relatively simple however -- two triangles stacked on top of one another, with the top one inverted so the points of the triangles touched.  It looked somewhat like an hourglass.  Between the triangles, a wavy horizontal line bisected where the points met, and then a thin outward array of lines, like spokes of a wheel, filled the top half of the background, and concentric half-circles in the bottom half.  All of it was set within a circle, and when looked at in the context of being inscribed on the orb of the black pearl, it looked like an eye.  

Bruce still wasn't sure what it all meant.  He hadn't found an exact match to the symbol anywhere, but now that he had control sites for comparison, he was able to narrow the parameters.

The computer completed the analysis, and he brought up an updated map.  Strange...  there was a pattern emerging in two new areas -- Central Australia and the American Southwest -- spikes of energy that by themselves could have been explained away through various scenarios, both natural and man-made.  Natural geologic activity, normal electromagnetic fluctuations, as well as military testing, metahuman activity and the like… but they were occurring too frequently in a pattern of clusters for it to be completely anomalous, and both regions were already well known for it's deep mythos and strange activity.  Perhaps the cause could be traced to the missing dreamstone?

Ideally Bruce would investigate the sites personally, but he was due at the Watchtower for various Justice League related matters and upgrades to its defenses.  He would likely be gone for several days at least before he could do a more thorough on-the-ground investigation for the black pearl.  It would also likely take Essence at least a few days before returning from her current search.  He had given her a communicator and could have called her back, but he still needed the data from the sites in the Middle East to do a full analysis.  

Bruce scowled in frustration. This search was like finding a needle in a haystack, except the haystack was filled with numerous false needles.  He also wasn't entirely sure he was focusing on the right thing.  It was urgent that he find a way to help Jason protect himself from mystical attack, but as he had discussed with Essence, the search for the lost dreamstone wouldn't necessarily fix that.  He begrudgingly admitted to himself that relying on Constantine for the immediate need of shoring up Jason’s mystical defenses was the best course of action for now.  At least until they could set him on a path to a longer term solution.  Whether that meant apprenticing him into magecraft or some other solution was still to be decided, and depended largely on being able to convince Jason to go along with it.  

Bruce tweaked the analysis once more, letting it run in the background as he updated the site list for the next time Essence made an appearance.  Further analysis on the new sites would have to wait until after he completed his trip to the Watchtower.  Bruce could only hope that Jason would stay out of trouble until then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * When Bruce died at the end of End Game in the New 52, the Dionesium healed him and fixed his brain. He was a very different person while he forgot he was Batman. I was thinking along the same lines here, that if you somehow took all the trauma out of Jason, he wouldn't be the same character at all. 
>   * This chapter was a bit melodramatic, but it was also a Bruce chapter… so yeah. 
> 



	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving to those in the US! Sorry this took so long... but its a longer chapter than I've posted before so that kinda makes up for it?

~~~~~ From Jason’s time “in between,” in the Dreaming ~~~~~

_Jason had been terrified the first time the Corinthian brought him into the lands of the Nightmare.  The place was completely foreign to him, and the landscape shifted constantly --  where there was a road one moment, there would be a building, or a desolate ruin the next.  The Corinthian had explained that the very nature of the place was was meant to disorient, trap, and break apart the minds and souls of those who found themselves in the Nightmare.  Sometimes it revealed hidden truths.  Sometimes it perpetuated lies.  Regardless of why people ended up there, it was designed to prevent escape, and without the Corinthian guiding him, Jason would have been lost to the horrors that happened there._

_The Nightmare was what Jason imagined hell would be like, filled with the screams of people calling for help, crying out in pain and fear.  He saw people murdered in the streets, tortured, and torn apart by monsters and humans alike.  A woman ran past, tripping and falling to the ground as some kind of scaled humanoid pounced on her and carried her off.  Instinctively, Jason tried to follow -- tried to get free so he could save her.  The Corinthian held him back with a painful vise-like grip on his shoulder that prevented him from intervening._

_“No.  Not yet,” the Corinthian said gently.  His voice was low and almost soothing as Jason continued to struggle.  He could feel the Corinthian’s hot breath along his neck as he spoke into Jason’s ear.  “There are things you have to understand about this place first, and the boss doesn't want you harmed.”  A hand moved up to stroke his cheek._

_“Don't touch me!”  Jason tried to shrug away, but the Corinthian held fast._

_“Why not?  You're very pretty, Jason.”  The Corinthian grabbed both his wrists and twisted his arms behind his back._

_“That's what all the creeps say.”  Jason tried pulling away, but the Corinthian wouldn’t budge._

_“I never said I wasn't,” the Corinthian laughed.  “I'm actually much worse.”_

_A scream punctuated the air again, followed by the report of a gun.  Then silence._

_“It's not real right?” Jason stopped his struggles momentarily and turned back to the Corinthian.  “These people, they're not really dying, right?”_

_“They’re not dead, but it's real.  Everything that happens here is real.  It's just not happening in the physical world.”_

_The Corinthian manhandled him back into a standing position, and kept his hands on his shoulders after that, marching him forward into another shifting landscape -- a labyrinth of hallways and rooms.  Jason glimpsed horror after horror, people being strangled, people being eviscerated.  Monsters gorging on live flesh, beasts rutting into writhing bodies.  Sometimes they reached for him as he passed, and Jason recoiled, but the Corinthian pulled him close and out of their reach._

_“Stay close to me Jason,” he had said.  “They won't hurt you if I'm here.”_

_“Can they really hurt me?  Even though I'm dead?”  Jason found himself leaning into the Corinthian despite his earlier disgust.  He at least had the assurance of the Lord Dream that the Corinthian would not do him any direct harm._

_“Yes.”  The Corinthian smiled that creepy smile again, and it sent chills up Jason’s spine.  “As far as you’re concerned, they can hurt you just as much as if you were alive.  Death won't actually take you again until you go back, but it_ _will_ _hurt.”_

_“So… when people die here...  people who are still alive, do they just wake up?”_

_“Usually.”_

_“Usually?”_

_“Yes,” he grinned with all three of his mouths.  The Corinthian didn't elaborate further._

_“Oh.”  Jason could guess what happened when people didn't wake up.  The Corinthian put his hands back on his shoulders, a little more gently this time, but still keeping him close as they continued through the Nightmare._

_“How the hell do you know where you're going if the place is different every time?”  Jason finally asked after they turned into a barren desert littered with bones and rotting carcasses._

_“Because I control this place.  It responds to the minds that reside within it, but I'm stronger than the minds of the dreamers who are shaping it.  There are ways to take control that I can show you Jason, if you’re strong enough.”_

_“I’m strong enough.”_

_“Are you?”_

_They were walking through a sandy desert now, empty save for a lone building in the distance.  It was familiar.  He knew this place.  Shit.  Shit shit shit shit._

_It was Qurac.  The warehouse where he died._

_“No!”  Jason twisted free and ran, but he was suddenly inside the warehouse. He turned in circles, but he was encircled by solid walls and fire.  There was laughter.  Hideous laughter echoing all around.  He heard the dull thud of something hard repeatedly impacting flesh._

_No. No no nononono.  The sound of himself being beaten.  Pain spiked through his body suddenly, and he let out a cry of pain and collapsed to the ground.  “Stop it!” He screamed.  “I don't want this!”_

_Dark boots, crusted with dark mud, or blood, entered his field of vision._

_“You're controlling this Jason.”  The Corinthian's voice sounded from somewhere above him.  “This is_ _you_ _, or rather_ your subconscious _, shaping this Nightmare.”_

_A hand pulled him into a sitting position, and turned his face to look at two figures that appeared to his side._

_The Joker.  And Sheila, his mother who betrayed him.  Laughter filled the air again.  It echoed through the warehouse, filling his ears with that horrible sound._

_Jason closed his eyes, trying to shut out the horror.  He huddled onto the ground and covered his head with his hands._

_“Stop.  Stop it,” Jason sobbed.  “That's enough.  Why did you bring me here?  What are you trying to show me?”_

_“You brought yourself here, but it's okay, Jason.” The Corinthian had his hands on him again, this time pulling him into an embrace.  Jason didn't resist this time.  He just needed to get away from the Joker.  He wanted to be safe.  He wanted someone to protect him._

_“You just needed to see.”  The Corinthian stroked his back soothingly.  “You need to start to understand what this place does, but I can take you away from here.  I can take you some place safe.  Do you want me to take you there?”_

_Jason nodded.  He hadn't realized how much witnessing his own death -- having a nightmare about it -- would affect him.  His whole body trembled.  He didn't think he would be able to stand.  He felt weak.  Scared.  Defenseless._

_He didn't protest when the Corinthian picked him up and carried him away._

 

~~~~~ Dick, in the present ~~~~~

“Rise and shine, sleeping beauty.”  Dick threw a pillow at the lumpy form under the covers of the bed, but it only earned him a muffled groan in return.

Dick pulled the covers down, revealing dark mussed hair and a face buried in the pillow.  He couldn't help but smile. It was rare that Jason got up much later than him.   They either woke together or Jason was usually up before him, starting the coffee and putting together breakfast by the time Dick would stumble out of the bedroom. This was a rare occasion indeed, and Dick took the opportunity to revel in the adorable sight of his sleep-addled and hung over lover.

“Come on, Jay,” Dick sat on the edge of the bed and set a glass of water down on the nightstand.  “You need to hydrate, and it's past noon.”  

He reached out to stroke at Jason’s hair.  It earned another muffled groan, but Jason turned his face out of the pillow to blink up at him.

“Here, for the headache.”  He held out a couple of pills.  

Jason eyed it suspiciously for a moment before finally reaching a hand out to take them, popping them in his mouth and sitting up to down the glass of water.  He flopped back onto the bed afterwards, pulling the pillow over his head again.  “Fuck.  I feel like someone dropped a truck on my head.”

“I’m not surprised,” Dick smirked.  “Do you remember what happened last night?”

Silence.

And then, “Oh shit!  The goat!”  Jason sat up abruptly.  “Where’s the medallion?”

“You mean this?”  Dick reached down for Jason’s discarded pants. Jason had come upstairs the night before after the confrontation in the garage and simply collapsed onto the bed fully clothed.  Dick had disarmed him and stripped him down to his undershirt and boxers, and felt the weight of the strange necklace Constantine had stuffed down Jason’s pants as he did so.  He had taken it out and inspected it briefly, examining the little embossed goat and the wavy scrawl, and then decided it was better to put it back.  He and Bruce had seen the footage when reports came in of a strange goat running amok, and he didn't want to cause a repeat of it in their own apartment.

Now that Jason was awake though, Dick ventured to pull the necklace out to inspect it in the daylight.  As soon as he held it up however, Jason's eyes widened and he snatched it out of Dick’s hand.  He stuffed it under a pillow before pinching the bridge of his nose and seemingly went into a breathing exercise.

Dick waited, slightly shocked at Jason’s reaction, until he finally opened his eyes to look back at Dick.  

“Don't look at it.  Don't even think about it!”  Jason said seriously.

“Why?  I already looked at it earlier.”

“Nothing happened?  It didn't come back?”  Jason looked around the room, as if expecting the goat to pop out from behind the furniture.

“No…,” Dick said slowly, remembering the magician’s words from the previous night.  “Constantine said you summoned it with just… thoughts?”

“How about we not talk about this.”  Jason rubbed his eyes, and leaned over the bed to fish something out of his discarded jacket.  It was a small black velvet bag.  He pulled the necklace out from under the pillow, purposefully looking away from it, and dropped it into the bag. Then, Jason tied it up and then closed it in the nightstand drawer.

Dick watched him as he sat on the edge of the bed, head in his hands.  He seemed to be collecting himself.  It was a mannerism Dick had seen Jason fall into more often lately, and it had him growing more and more worried.  It may have just been a result of the hangover, and he was simply remembering the previous night perhaps, but there was something about the slump of his shoulders and the look in his eye as he brought his hands away from his face that told Dick there was likely a storm beneath the surface.

Dick managed to hold his tongue, giving Jason a few moments of quiet, before he finally asked, “Are you okay, Jay?”

Jason blinked at him, as if he'd been lost in thought, but then smiled faintly, perhaps a little too put on.  “Yeah.  Fine.  I just need a shower.”

He dug through his discarded clothes for his phone, no doubt checking his messages, before lumbering into the bathroom.  Dick went to the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee.  When he came back, Jason was in the shower.  Unlike Jason's previous one-person shower stall in his hole-in-the-wall safehouse, their current bathroom was spacious, with a large shower that had clear glass doors.  The glass hadn't fogged up yet, and Dick could clearly see Jason’s nude form, arms braced against the tiles and his face in the spray.

Dick smiled to himself as he ogled shamelessly.  He still often caught himself marveling at how the scrappy street punk he had first met grew into such an intensely striking young man.  Dick admired the lines of his form, broad back and shoulders, finely chiseled, with more mass than himself.  Still, Jason managed to move fluidly, less gracefully than Dick maybe, but with a fierceness and unyielding strength that few could rival. Jason had been through nearly every conceivable horror, and he was still standing. Not even death could keep him down.

Dick’s thoughts sobered a little at that. It was true, Jason had been through the worst, and he had survived, but not without cost.  And with this last trauma, though Jason was pretty much back in physical shape, Dick hadn't fully been able to figure out where he was mentally or emotionally.  Outwardly he was very much the same.  Cynical.  Snarky.  Moody.  And yet surprisingly kind, loving and considerate in the intimate moments they shared when they were alone.  

But there was more going on underneath.  Half the time Jason seemed fine.  Like he was doing reasonably well given what he had just been through.  But other times Jason seemed… tired and… _sad_.  As if he had grown so weary that he didn't even bother to cover it up with anger like he usually did.  Dick caught Jason with his head in his hands enough times that it was definitely a pattern.  

He’d only gone catatonic and unresponsive once since they recovered him from the spider, and though he had gone into a panic afterwards it had been brief.  But this was different.  Jason withdrew into himself more and more, and Dick would find him sometimes with his head in his hands, or just huddled in a chair staring at nothing -- like he was lost in his own head -- but when happened upon, he was immediately responsive.  Embarrassed even, at having been caught out.

It was scarier though, when sometimes he would find Jason in their stockroom, staring at his array of armaments.  Dick found him once sitting on the floor staring at a gun in his hand.  Jason seemed dazed, and a little unsteady, but at Dick’s appearance he put the gun away, claiming he had simply been checking his equipment.  Needless to say, Dick was extremely concerned at finding Jason like that.  He came back and inspected the gun later, and was relieved to find that it wasn't loaded… but it was distressing enough that alarm bells were going off in his head.  

Jason brushed it off, but Dick could tell he was lying.  Dick was no shrink, but he could tell Jason clearly wasn’t right.  He needed help.  However, it wasn't like superhero psychiatrists were easy to come by, and the most notable of recent memory had fallen in love with Jason’s murderer and went full supervillain.  Dick severely regretted the fact that they had ever thought it a good idea to send Jason to Arkham.  No... Jason wouldn't trust just anyone anymore.  He could barely open himself up to Dick, let alone a total stranger.

Dick didn't know what the right answer was, and he worried that simply showing that he loved Jason wouldn't be enough to keep him grounded.  Constantine’s words from the night before once again echoed through his mind, striking to the heart of Dick’s fears.  If love wasn’t enough, then what was?

Dick had been running these thoughts through his head, and stood there staring long enough that Jason gave him a questioning glance from inside the shower.  He moved to open the glass door, stepping half out of the spray of water and poking his head out to look at Dick.  

“What’s wrong?” Jason asked. He flipped dripping wet hair out of his eyes as he did so.

Whoa.  Dick's worries were momentarily forgotten as he took in the sight of his lover.  Teal-blue eyes bright with concern, hair slick and dripping, rivulets of water running down the crevices of his sculpted muscles, down his pecs, droplets clinging to his nipples, snakes of water running down his abs, running down to his groin….

“Um.  Wow.”  Dick swallowed involuntarily.  “You look really hot.”   He mentally facepalmed.   _Smooth. Real smooth._

But then Jason smiled. A real smile.  Wry and teasing.  He reached a hand out and took hold of Dick’s shirt and dragged him, fully clothed, into the shower.  

Jason pulled him under the warm spray, and Dick was immediately soaked through, the weight of his sopping wet t-shirt and sweats clinging to his skin.  Jason kissed him, sucking at his lower lip before pressing forward, tilting his head back as he cupped Dick’s face with his hands.  His mouth tasted like mint toothpaste, slightly tingling as Dick opened up to him, swirling their tongues together.

Jason stroked his hands across Dick’s pecs, plastering the wet cloth to his chest. “You win, Dickie,” he breathed.

“Win?”

“The wet t-shirt contest,” Jason teased as he brought his hands along Dick’s sides, thumbing his nipples through the wet cotton of his shirt.  

Dick let out an involuntary moan.  He wanted to feel Jason’s naked skin against his body.  He wanted the tactile touch of Jason’s rough and callused hands gripping him and stroking him, but Jason kept to just touching him through his shirt.  Jason was teasing him, applying just enough pressure as he gripped Dick’s ass with both hands, and grinding his already hardened member against Dick’s hip through the sodden material of his sweats.

Dick shuddered as a spike of arousal coursed through him.  Enough was enough.  He needed to get out of his clothes fast.  He pushed the sweats down, stepping out of them and kicking them to the side.  Jason watched, stroking himself lightly, as Dick peeled the shirt up and over his head.  He stepped into Jason's arms again, pressing their bodies back together, skin to skin and mouth to mouth in an open kiss.  

The spray of water continued to wash over them, bathing them in warmth.  Heat.  Dick felt like he might melt into the tiles as Jason kissed his throat, stroked his hands up and down his back, kneading his ass, teasing his nipples with his tongue.  Dick let himself be guided backwards, until he was leaning against the tiled wall of the shower, and Jason slid down onto his knees to take him into his mouth.

Dick let his head fall back, closing his eyes to focus on the sensation of Jason working his tongue along the underside of his cock before sliding back to swirl around the head.  Jason glided his tongue and lips slowly back and forth, drawing out the sensations with each repetition of suckle and swallow.  Dick let out a low whine, vaguely registered that Jason was reaching for the bottle of lube Dick had stashed behind the shampoo in the recessed shelf behind him.  Then he felt a hand stroking at the inside of his thigh, nudging a leg up to sling over Jason's shoulder.   He felt a slick finger probing at his entrance, pushing in one and then two digits, Jason’s thumb rubbing at his taint at the same time. He let out another involuntary moan.  Couldn't help but thrust his hips forward into Jason's mouth as the pleasure rolled through his body.

“Oh god, Jay, that's good.  That feels so good.”  Dick ran his fingers through Jason’s wet hair.  “Faster, Jay.  Please, faster.”  The moans turning into pleas.

But Jason kept his pace, his mouth hot and tongue fluttering with the slow measured bob of his head.  Kept a steady rhythm that had Dick hovering on the cusp of pure bliss.  He thrust his hips a little quicker, but with one leg over Jason's shoulder he didn’t have quite enough leverage to take control without breaking their position.  Dick squirmed.  He knew Jason was teasing him -- being playful with him.  Challenging him to turn the tables and take charge.  It was something of a game they often played when they had first gotten together.  Before… from _before_.  Dick didn't let himself think about _that_.  Instead, he relaxed as he shifted more of his weight to his leg, readying himself to bring both his feet back to ground to get more leverage -- to set a faster pace, but Jason was on to him.  He swallowed Dick down his throat at the same time he scissored his fingers inside him.  It had Dick arching back, pulling another cry from his lips at the sudden jolt of pleasure.  

He was still caught up in the incredible sensation when Jason abruptly withdrew, only to hoist him up, one leg stretched upward with his ankle still over Jason's shoulder so he was barely touching the floor with his other leg.  Jason braced him against the tiled shower wall, and Dick balanced the heels of his palms on the narrow lip of the recessed shelf. Jason positioning his cock at Dick’s entrance, leaning in close and making eye contact.  His eyes were like smoldering fires.  Bright and piercing, as if Jason was lighting the slowly burning embers of desire within him with the sheer force of his gaze.  Like a spark, Dick was instantly swept away in the flare of his own desire.   He wanted Jason inside him.  Now.  But Jason was always careful with him -- he never moved forward unless Dick gave his explicit agreement.  He nodded back at Jason, confirming his consent, and in one swift motion, Jason drove his hips upward, penetrating him to the hilt as he let Dick’s weight bear down.

“Uhhnn… yes,” Dick rasped, throwing his head back as he adjusted to the hard length inside him.   Jason was panting, chest rising and falling with the effort of control, his biceps curled and bulging from bracing Dick's weight against the wall.  “Jay, please,” Dick urged.  “ _Come on_.”

Jason finally obliged, pinning his mouth in a kiss as he moved, thick cock filling him, sliding in and out and rocking Dick’s entire body with each upward grind.  It was fast and hard, the way Dick liked it.  The way Dick had begged for it.  He stroked himself between them as he rode the movements, whimpering plaintively into Jason’s mouth as he finally reached his climax.  He curled inward as spasms rolled through his body, hitting him again and again in waves of pleasure.  His come splattered both their chests.  It felt hot, even amidst the spray of warm water that still pelted Jason’s back.  

Jason kept thrusting into Dick, chasing his own release.  It sent echoing jolts of climax through him, his whole body still overly sensitive, not quite done with come down.  Dick pulled his mouth away to suckle behind Jason’s ear, pinching a nipple and clenching himself around Jason at the same time.  He tugged lightly at Jason's hair, tickled the curve of his neck with a kiss, playing Jason’s body like a song, hitting all his sweet spots to send him over the edge.

“Dick!  Dickie, oh fucking christ, Dickie!”  Jason cried his name over and over as he came.  It was the most beautiful thing Dick had heard in awhile.  Jason was buried inside him, twitching, flexing his hips and releasing his hot seed as deep inside Dick as he could go.

Jason gave one last grind of his hips before collapsing onto the tiled floor, bringing Dick down gently with him.  He nuzzled their faces together, caressing Dick’s cheek, and Dick put his arms around him so that Jason’s face was pressed against his shoulder, his back leaning against Dick’s chest.  Both of them were seated, still under the warm spray of water, washing away the evidence of their love making.  Jason gripped Dick’s hand in his own.  He was quiet, eyes closed.  He gave Dick’s hand a firm squeeze.

“Are you mad?  About last night?”  

“No,” Dick replied.  “I’m not mad.  Not at you.  But I’m worried.  We’re all worried.”

“I know.”  Jason gave Dick’s hand another squeeze but didn’t continue.

“I love you, Jay,” Dick stroked his hair.

“I know.”  Jason closed his eyes and relaxed in his arms.  They stayed like that for a little while, still pelted under the spray of water that was now growing tepid.  Dick thought maybe Jason had fallen asleep, but then he moved.  Got to his feet and shut off the water.  He held a hand out to pull Dick up.

“Come on, I'm hungry,” Jason smiled, and Dick took his hand.

 

//////////////////////////////

They toweled off, and after throwing on some fresh clothes, ventured out of their bedroom toward the kitchen.  Dick followed behind Jason, and nearly collided with his back when he suddenly froze and went stiff.  

There were people in their kitchen. Bruce was seated at their dining table -- a table Alfred had insisted they get -- and Alfred himself was setting a pot of something on their stove.

“What are you doing here?”  Jason was scowling at Bruce.

“I wanted to check on you, Jason,” Bruce replied, his tone matter-of-fact.  “After last night.”

“You mean you came here to tell me how much I fucked up.”

Dick cringed.  Of course Jason would take it the wrong way and mistake Bruce’s awkward concern as a reprimand.  Dick probably would have interpreted it the same way were he in Jason’s shoes.  Thankfully though, Alfred intervened.

“Now, Master Jason,” Alfred admonished, “Master Bruce was concerned and wanted to ensure there were no unintended effects, magical or otherwise.  I understand you were quite indisposed last night.”  He was giving Jason _that look_ , head slightly tilted back so his eyes were looking downward at him.  Alfred was not sparing Jason from any of his disapproval.

It worked.  “Sorry Alfred,” Jason said sheepishly, eyes downcast and hands in his pockets like an overgrown errant child.

Alfred nodded his acceptance of the apology and went on, “Then please sit.  I've spent the morning making you some broth.  I'll heat it up, and make some eggs.  You sit too, Master Richard.”

Alfred managed to usher Dick and Jason over to the dining table.  It doubled as a workspace when Constantine was teaching Jason from the grimoire, and so Jason gathered the loose papers that covered the tabletop -- filled with practice doodles of various sigils -- stacking the sheaves neatly, and sliding it under the grimoire to clear space.  

They sat in silence as Alfred bustled back into the kitchen, and Dick tried to ease the awkwardness with small talk.  He struggled to find a neutral enough topic, however.  The latest happenings of the Gotham crime scene were out of the question.  Jason was resentful that he had been barred from patrol until he could get a better handle of magical defenses, and bringing it up would likely cause a fight.  So Dick tried his best to rustle up harmless minutiae to fill the empty air.

“So,” Dick looked over at Bruce, “since you're in town, are you going into Wayne Enterprises?”

“No.”

Single word answer.  Not good.  New topic then.  “Get any tickets to the Gotham Knights this year?”

“They were donated to charity.”

“Which charity?”

“The Wayne Foundation.”

 _Damnit._ Bruce was not making small talk easy.  He was too focused on staring intently at Jason, who was sitting across and at the opposite end of the table.  He was pointedly ignoring Bruce, and had a single blank sheet of paper out on which he had started drawing what Dick recognized to be the masking sigil Constantine painted on his chest.  Except Jason was drawing it in reverse. He was drawing what it would look like if he were painting it on himself in the mirror.

Bruce looked extremely cross as he watched Jason fill in a ring with some kind of indecipherable script.  It was the sort of look he used when he used to catch Dick sneaking out as Robin when he wasn't supposed to.  Dick realized this was probably the first time he had actively seen Jason working at learning magic.  He knew Bruce _hated_ magic.  It was too unpredictable.  It defied too many laws of science, and it couldn't be dissected and investigated the same way he could everything else.  It was dangerous even with the best of training, and seeing one of his sons delve into it, even though it was out of necessity, probably left a sour taste in Bruce’s mouth.  

Dick looked between the two emotionally constipated men he loved so dearly, and resigned himself to breaking up some kind of inevitable showdown between the two.  Something was bound to happen with Bruce so fixated on what Jason was doing, and Jason pretending he didn't notice.

Dick was about to leave them to it, getting to his feet and opening his mouth to ask Alfred if he needed any help, when Bruce abruptly shot out of his chair.

“Jason!”  Bruce was by Jason’s side, pulling the pencil out of his hand, and to Dick’s horror, he saw that blood was running from Jason’s nose to splash across the paper.  Bruce was pulling out a handkerchief to staunch the blood.

“Jay!”  Dick cried and grabbed his shoulder, but Jason didn't react.  He was staring blankly down at a new symbol he had drawn on the piece of paper, as if in a trance.  Bruce followed his gaze as well, and snatched the paper away, crumpling it into a ball.

Jason snapped out of it as soon as the strange symbol was out of sight.  

“What the --?”  He pushed away, knocking over his chair as he stood and wiped his hand across his face.  It came away bloody.  Jason just stared, eyes wide in confusion.  “What… did something happen?”

“You don't remember?”  Bruce questioned.

Dick took the handkerchief and pressed it against Jason’s face again. He took it, holding it to his nose, and looked back at the crumpled paper with brows furrowed.

“I was drawing the masking sigil,” Jason said slowly, “and then you guys were suddenly all up in my face.”

Bruce grabbed the paper and opened it again slowly, angling it away so Jason couldn't see it.  Dick moved to look over his shoulder.  It had two symbols drawn on it, the first of which was the mirror image of the masking sigil Jason had started with.  The second symbol Dick didn't recognize.  It was a circle, with two triangles inside it, points touching.  It looked like Jason had started to draw a horizontal line to cross between the two points before he was interrupted.

“I've seen Jay practice this one before,” he explained to Bruce.  “This other one I don't recall, but I haven't been looking at all of them that closely.”

“Let me see.”  Jason grabbed for the paper but Bruce held it away, folding it and then stuffing it into his pocket.

“No.”  Bruce replied gruffly, but Dick heard a strange catch in his voice.  “It triggered something in you.  I won't risk it happening again.”

“Well then we need John to look at it,” Jason held out his hand for Bruce to give it back.  “He texted that he’ll drop by tonight.  I'll show it to him.”

“ _John._  You mean Constantine?”  Bruce nearly snarled his name.  Dick had noted Jason's use of Constantine’s given name as well.  The familiarity Jason was displaying toward the man was disturbing, especially after the previous night’s disastrous escapade.  Dick agreed with Bruce.  He didn't like it at all.

“Who the fuck else would I be talking about?”  Jason snapped.  

“I already told him I didn't want him near you.”  Bruce made no move to return the paper.  “And if this symbol is triggering a reaction in you, I don't want this anywhere near you either.”

“What?  That is goddamned fucking stupid,” Jason raised his voice.  “Just give me the fucking paper!”

“Jay!” Dick intervened, stepping between the two.  “Bruce is right.  If something just got a hold of you through whatever that symbol was, you shouldn't be near it.”  He put his hands up to cup Jason’s face.  His nose had stopped bleeding, but crusts of blood were still smeared across his mouth and cheek.  “Come on, Jay.  Please.  We’re just worried.”

Dick held his face so that Jason had to look him in the eye, and there was a tense moment where Dick wasn't sure if Jason would back down, but he finally closed his eyes and acquiesced.

“Fine,” Jason sighed.  “But if you're going to take it, you'd better put it in salt.”

“I’ll make sure it is thoroughly packaged then.”  Alfred had appeared out of the kitchen upon hearing the commotion as well, and he was now standing next to Jason with a warm hand on his shoulder.  “Why don't you get cleaned up, Master Jason?  The food is ready in the kitchen, but it seems as if it is best if Master Bruce and I take our leave with this strange symbol before it can do anymore harm.”

“I'm sorry Alf,” Jason started, but Alfred shushed him.

“No need to apologize, dear boy.  We are all concerned, so we should make haste.  Go on now, we will let ourselves out.”

Jason nodded and turned, somewhat reluctantly as Alfred disappeared back into the kitchen, presumably to raid their stash of salt.  Bruce remained standing by the dining table, looking grim.  Angry.  Hands balled into fists, but Dick could also see the wheels turning in his head.  He had made some kind of connection already.  Drawn some sort of conclusion about what had just happened, and Dick made a mental note to follow up with him.  It would have to be later though.  He had to make sure Jason was okay first.

Dick followed as Jason retreated to the bathroom, where he began splashing water on his bloodied face.

“What the hell was that, Jay?”  Dick asked, trying to keep the anxiety out of his voice.  His adrenaline had started going as soon as he'd seen the blood, and he was still wired and tense.  “Were you attacked just now?”

“I honestly don't know,” he replied quietly.  “I don't even remember drawing a second symbol.  What did it look like?”  Jason was still facing the sink, his arms braced against the countertop and looking at Dick through the reflection of the mirror.

“There were… triangles….  Maybe I shouldn't describe it in too much detail,” Dick hesitated.  “We don't know if that will trigger it again.”

“Triangles plural?  I haven’t worked on any sigils with more than one.  Maybe….”  Jason trailed off, his focus suddenly shifting to something else he saw reflected in the mirror -- some other spot behind him on the opposite side.  His breath was a little hitched, eyes a little wide, and he was gripping the countertop so hard his knuckles were white.

“Jay?”  Dick looked back and forth between the mirror and the spot where Jason was looking, but he didn't see anything.  “What is it?   What are you looking at?”

Jason blinked, shook his head and pushed past Dick and out of the bathroom quickly.  “Nothing.  It's nothing.”

“Bullshit!”  Dick called him out.  “Just tell me, what was it?”

Jason shook his head and stripped off his bloodied t-shirt.  He seemed extremely rattled, and he wouldn't meet Dick’s gaze.

“Jay, come on.”  Dick approached him and took his hand, bringing it to his chest and holding it over his heart.  “Talk to me,” he said gently.

Jason finally paused, letting Dick clutch at his hand and taking slow measured breaths.  He closed his eyes, and opened his mouth as if to say something, but then swallowed it down.  When he spoke again, his tone was pragmatic and closed off.  

“Help me with the masking sigil,” Jason said tightly.  “Get the pigments.”

“Is something here?  Are you being attacked?”

“No.  Nothing's attacking, but something was _looking_ earlier.  Whatever it was, I don't think it got through to see much.  It stopped when you guys interrupted.”  Jason pulled his hand away from Dick’s chest, but didn't let go.  “Keep an eye on me… _watch me_ … when I draw the masking sigil on myself.  Make sure I don't start drawing something else again.”

“Okay.”  

It took over an hour for Jason to complete it, sitting shirtless in front of the bedroom mirror with the specially blessed pigments Constantine had provided.  Jason wasn't as fast as Constantine, and kept having to refer back to the grimoire, but Dick kept watch.  He stayed alert and mostly silent so as not to break Jason’s concentration.  Jason himself remained strangely shifty.  Nervous.  He kept looking over his shoulder as if something was there, just like he had in the bathroom.  

“Jay?  What are you looking at?”  Dick ventured to ask again.  Jason’s behavior was becoming alarming, and when he didn't answer, Dick reached over and took his hand again, giving it a reassuring squeeze.  “Come on, Jay, I'm really worried about you.”

Jason finally shifted his focus back to him, his expression pained.  “I know, Dickie.  I just…,” Jason squeezed his hand back before continuing, “I'm sorry.  Just let me finish.”

Jason resumed painstakingly filling in the strange script on his chest.  When he was done, he checked himself in the mirror one last time.  He glanced over his shoulder quickly and seemed relieved, and Dick wondered again what Jason had seen.  What he said next however, hit Dick completely out of left field, and he found himself scrambling for a reply.

“I'm going with you on patrol tonight,” Jason stated resolutely.

“What?  Hell no!”  Dick shot out of his chair to stand, incredulous.  Jason's intention had come out of nowhere, and it had Dick’s protective instincts going into overdrive.  “Absolutely not!  Not after what happened today.  We’re both staying in tonight.”

Jason actually looked amused at Dick’s reaction.  “No.  I'm going out.  Either with you or John, and honestly, I'd rather it be you tonight.  I could use a break from magic tricks.”  Jason even had the moxie to give Dick a boyish smile.  He looked kind of endearing.  Dick wanted to smack him, because when Jason wanted to be charming, he was devastatingly effective, and Dick felt his resolve begin crumble.

“But… no, this is crazy.  Jay, we can’t put you in danger--.”

“I'm in danger _here_ ,” Jason interrupted, his tone serious again.  He rose from his seat to look Dick eye to eye, and started to cross his arms until he remembered the paint on his chest wasn't quite dry.  “It's not going to matter _where_ I am.  Something got to me here.  In our apartment. Today.  Even though this place is heavily warded.”

“So something _is_ here?  Is that what you keep seeing?”  Dick knew there was more that Jason wasn't saying. His behavior was too telling.

“No.  I just mean…,” Jason shook his head and averted his gaze.  “I feel like… like I’m losing myself, Dick.  Like I don't know who I am anymore.  I can't keep doing this.  Staying in hiding isn’t helping.  It's making it _worse_.”

It didn’t escape his notice how Jason avoided the question, but what stood out was the emotion that clung to his words.   _Worse._  Jason was getting worse.

Constantine was right, and Dick remembered the man’s words from last night.   _Whatever's happening, it's eating at his soul._  Jason wasn’t thriving, and Dick realized keeping him isolated was likely affecting him mentally more than any of them had anticipated.  Jason needed to act.  He needed a purpose. A mission.  And like all of the Bats, he was never one to sit idly.  He was no damsel in distress that needed to be constantly protected, no matter how much Dick and Bruce wanted to keep him away from harm.  

They managed to keep Jason safe these last couple months, but it also left him feeling trapped.  Caged.  And now he wanted out.  If he really wanted to be out patrolling again, there wasn't really any reasonable way to stop him short of drugging him or keeping him imprisoned, and those were surefire ways to get Jason to rebel and run.  Dick would have to work with him on this if he didn't want to drive Jason away… and now that he thought about it, what better way to lift his spirits than to kick some Crime Alley thug’s ass?

“Okay, okay,” Dick still wasn't entirely convinced this was a good idea, but he didn't want him going out with Constantine again either.  Patrol seemed the lesser of two evils.  “We’ll go out on patrol, but not until Constantine checks you out and shores up your defenses.”

“Deal,” Jason seemed relieved.  “He’s coming by early to bum food off of us anyway, so we’ll have plenty of time to get ready.”

Dick pinched the bridge of his nose.  Jason had kept up with his physical training and workouts as soon as he was healed, but he could probably use more of a warm up after having been off the streets for so many weeks.  It was still early afternoon too.  They had several hours to kill.

“Eat and then spar downstairs?”  Dick offered.

“Thought you’d never ask,” Jason smiled back, his mood already brightening.

Something inside Dick eased up a little.  He knew he shouldn't have capitulated to Jason's demands so easily, but he was relieved to see Jason wanting to be more like his old self.  He was trying to take back control of his life, just like Dick had wanted to when he was trying to overcome his panic over physical intimacy.  Jason didn't want his trauma to hold him back from doing what he wanted, and going on patrol tonight would be a first step toward that.

Dick let out another long sigh.  Shit.  Bruce was going to kill him when he found out.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WTF is going on with Jason, you ask???? It will be explained in the next chapter! Things are not quite what they seem, or maybe they are....


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \-- WARNING: description of how the Corinthian and Jason first got together. Jason would still have been underage (and dead) at the time, so if this triggers you, skip the flashback. It is not particularly graphic (there will be no detailed explicit underage in this fic), but it's disturbing and dub-con.  
> \-- Trigger warning. Descriptions of Despair, one of the Endless, who has been shown to inflict self-harm  
> \-- Suicidal themes, though I promise you no one will _actually_ kill themselves in this fic either.

~~~~~ From Jason’s time “in between,” in the Dreaming ~~~~~

_Most of the time Jason didn't mind spending time at the Palace.  There were a lot of places to explore, and he been given access to an enormous library with books that had only ever been dreamed.  The balcony that overlooked the Dreaming became a fast favorite spot of his to camp out and read.  The sunsets were simply amazing, and it was generally quiet and isolated so he wouldn't be disturbed while he was engrossed in a book._

_At the same time he found himself eventually getting lonely.  A few days of solitary reading left him craving communication and contact with someone that could actually talk back.  There were a handful of people that came and went regularly that he gradually became familiar with. Tethys, the white raven, would usually appear only to fetch him.  Lucien seemed to be the right hand of the Lord Dream, running much of the estate like Alfred did back at Wayne Manor, but he reminded Jason both too much and too little of Alfred.  It reminded him of the life he had lost, and it hurt to think about that.  He wasn't sure if he wanted to get close to him, nor was he quite as warm and welcoming as Alfred._

_There was a nice woman with brassy hair and pointed ears named Nuala who would often bring him food, but she tended to be somewhat reserved.  Plus while she wasn't busy keeping the Palace clean, she had something going on with Lucien that kept the two of them mostly occupied.  Merv the pumpkin-headed man was too cranky most of the time, and while the man Abel had nervously approached him to talk a few times, his brother Cain was outright hostile.  Jason found it best to simply stay clear them.  Other than that, many people avoided him, or they were only transient dreamers that steadily rotated through the Palace.  There weren't a whole lot of people he could relate to and much to his own surprise, he found himself inexplicably drawn to the Corinthian._

_He was supposed to be living mostly at the Palace, and visits with the Corinthian to the Nightmare were to be tracked and reported back to Dream.  Lucien had given him a room to call his own, meals where available in a fully stocked kitchen, and clean clothes and other amenities appeared and disappeared out of his room whenever needed.  It was a little odd that he found himself actually needing to sleep too.  The Corinthian explained that it had to do with keeping his conscious mind -- his ego associated with the material world -- intact even though he was dead, and that a part of him would go to a different part of the Dreaming when he slept._

_That was one of the reasons that Jason found himself seeking more of the strange Nightmare’s attention.  The Corinthian explained things to him and answered his questions in the least cryptic way out of anyone he had met in the Dreaming.  He was still creepy as hell, and he made no apologies about his disturbing interest in Jason, but he also showed him the things no one else wanted to talk about.  It was what Dream had asked him to do --  show him the nature of the Nightmare, help him understand the brutality of human nature, and help him accept the brutality that he would have to realize when he returned._

_Once he figured it out, it was relatively easy sneaking out of the Palace to visit the Nightmare.  Dream was often busy or absent, and he had delegated the day-to-day tasks of keeping an eye on Jason to Lucien.  But Lucien was also too busy to keep an eye on an errant teenager trained in stealth and who practically grew up giving adults the slip.  Jason just had to establish a pattern of solitary reading, turning up every few days to report everything was fine, and Lucien and Dream were none the wiser when he started taking longer trips into the Nightmare._

_One of the first things the Corinthian taught Jason was how to make his way through the terrifying lands of the Nightmare.  He couldn't fully influence the place on his own, but he learned he could focus it on his lesser fears -- the fears he could overcome.  Things like the drug pushers and low rate pimps that lined the streets of Crime Alley.  He could deal with those losers.  He had dealt with them and even worked with them plenty of times before.  If he concentrated on them, he could prevent the visage of the Joker, his mother, and his own bloody corpse from appearing again.  It worked most of the time, and when he failed, the Corinthian would find him.  He would save him from the Joker by tearing his head off._

_“I won't let him hurt you, Jason,” the Corinthian would say, holding him to his chest.  Jason was embarrassed at his uncontrolled fear at seeing his own death, but surprisingly, the Corinthian made him feel safe.  He had never really sought physical consolement when he was alive.  Bruce rarely touched him as such, and when he did it was always a little awkward, but here the need was almost overwhelming.  That part of himself that wanted affection -- that he was able to quash down when he was alive -- couldn't be hidden in the Nightmare.  He couldn't resist the want for protection, and the Corinthian was the only one around who consistently gave it._

_Jason knew what the Corinthian was doing even as he let it happen.  He was being manipulated into a position of extreme vulnerability, so that he would become dependent on the powerful nightmare for safety.  Jason knew it, but he didn't know how to fight it, because that feeling of being wanted and needed… he craved it like a thirst.  Because he didn't have people here that told him they cared for him.  He didn't have Bruce, or Alfred, or even Dick.  His mother, Catherine was long gone.  He had no one, and that was in many ways the most devastating part of his death.  It left him alone again. It left him feeling… unloved._

_So on his latest trip into the Nightmare, when he found himself caught again in the web of memories that was his death, the Corinthian showed up once more to rip the Joker to shreds with his knife.  He showed Jason the decapitated corpse of the dreamform Joker and then sought to calm him._

_He caressed Jason gently.  Soothingly.  Holding Jason in his strong arms, keeping the rest of the Nightmare at bay.  He stroked his back until his breathing eased, but then it progressed into something more intimate.  When the Corinthian eventually kissed him, he couldn't resist.  He needed the comfort.  He needed to feel like someone was watching out for him… taking care of him the way no one ever had before.  So when it moved beyond a simple kiss, and the Corinthian snaked his hands under his clothes to lay upon bare skin, he didn't stop it.  Probably couldn't even if he'd tried.  He was too lost and too scared, and the Corinthian too strong and too assertive.  Jason knew it was wrong.  Knew it was twisted, but he needed to feel protected._

_The Corinthian laid him down on the floor as the warehouse scene evaporated around them, and the dreamform of the Joker crumbled into dust.  He knelt over Jason, pulling down his pants and pushing his legs apart with his knees.  He was large and powerful, making Jason feel small and vulnerable beneath him.  Grinning mouths hovered over him, crooning a soft litany of assurances._

_“Everything’s gonna be okay, just let me make you feel good.  Easy, just relax.  Let me show you.  That's it.  I'll show you.”  The Corinthian took his pleasure on him then and there, kissing away Jason’s tears as he cried._

 

~~~~~ Jason, back in the present ~~~~~

The truth was he lied.

He lied to Dick about there not being something in their apartment.  He lied when he said that he wasn't seeing something.  He knew Dick didn't really believe him, and it wasn’t that he didn't want to tell him, he just… it was just complicated.

The truth was he had been seeing something for a while now, just not what Dick thought.

He saw _her_.

Not often, but enough that he knew he wasn't  mistaken.  It was definitely one of them.  One of the Endless.  Not Dream.  Not Death.  Death he somehow remembered that he actually likes. Wouldn't mind seeing her again.  Maybe.

No.  He’s been seeing another sister.   She's heavy.  Fat.  Short.  Her face perpetually cruel and twisted.  She doesn't wear much clothing, if at all, and her bare breasts droop over her rotund, protruding belly.   She has a ring with a barbed hook on it that she uses to tear at her own skin.  Lines of blood run across her arms. Her neck.  Her lips.  Sometimes she tears at her eyes.  Blood drips from her wounds, and her mouth is always twisted in pain.

The first time he saw her was shortly after he had awoken at the Manor -- after he had been rescued from the spider.  He had been wandering the halls, restless, trying to avoid the others and find some solitude, when eventually he made his way to the Manor library.  

As soon as he entered, he saw a hunched shadow in the corner of the room.  At first he thought it was Essence, but the shape was all wrong.  He saw her long enough and clearly enough that he could register bare flesh, pale skin and dark hair.  He didn't remember a whole lot about what happened in the cavern after he performed the purification on Drakar, but seeing her again triggered a memory that sent him on the verge of a panic attack -- an image of her lying there in that dank cave, beside another girl in chains.  Jason had backed out of the library, hyperventilating as he slammed the door shut.  He sat there in the hall until he got his breathing under control, and once he calmed down, he somehow knew who she was: _Despair_.

When he looked again into the library she had disappeared.

He thought he had hallucinated her at first, but then he saw her again a week later in their apartment.  It was after an episode where he had gone catatonic for a brief period.  Dick was freaking out when he came to, and there she was, sitting in a far corner of the room, just watching.  Jason might have gone a little hysterical after that, and Dick had grabbed his face, forcing him to look at him in an effort to get Jason to calm down.  When he finally dared to look back she was no longer there.

He saw her a third time a few weeks later hovering just inside the doorway of the stockroom where they kept their weapons.  When he entered the room, she had disappeared again, but one of the bottom drawers where he kept extra handguns had been pulled out.  He kneeled on the floor and looked into the drawer.  It was where he kept a few revolvers that he didn't use much.  They generally didn't have enough capacity given vigilante work and the volume of bullets he fired off on a given night, but they were handy if he needed to use modified bullets for special purposes.

One of the revolvers was out of place, a smaller 357 mag.  Jason picked it up and opened the cylinder to find that a single chamber was loaded.

 _What the hell?_  He didn't store the revolvers loaded, and certainly not with just one bullet.  He maintained his equipment meticulously, and leaving a round in the chamber unintentionally would have been beyond careless.  

It was _her_.  She was fucking with him.

A shadow reappeared over his shoulder and he whirled and stood, gun drawn and aimed even though it was no longer loaded with the single bullet.  Not that it would have done him any good even if it was, because the full figure of Despair stood facing him, mouth curled in an ugly sneer.  His heart beat wildly as he watched her draw her hooked ring down her face, from tear duct to the corner of her mouth, scoring a deep gash that had red seeping down her face like bloody tears.  

A deep anguish suddenly overwhelmed him, and he lowered his gun, dropped to his knees again and fell back against the wall.  He was verging on panic again, and he tried to calm himself, closed his eyes and tried to _will_ her away, but she was still there even when he shut his eyes -- looking at him through a sort of small rectangular opening amidst a sea of blackness.  As if he was imprisoned inside a dark cell, and she was looking in at him through a window the size of a portrait frame.  She didn't say anything.  She just watched him, unsmiling.  When he opened his eyes she was gone.

He just sat there afterward, trying to figure out what had just happened.  Was she trying to push him over the edge?  Trying to torment him enough that he'd eventually kill himself?  Was that what the loaded gun was for?

Dick found him later, still sitting on the floor leaning against the wall, legs sprawled out in front of him, staring at the gun in his hand.  The fear had drained from him by then, and he just felt empty.  He put the gun away while Dick hovered around him anxiously.  He’d be an idiot if he didn't recognize what the scene looked like to Dick, but for some reason Jason found he couldn't explain what had really happened.  He couldn't bring himself to tell Dick what he was seeing.  

He just couldn't go there.  It would be an inquisition all over again.  Bruce would lose his shit and Dick and the others would think he was having a breakdown again, or that he was in enough danger that they would keep him locked and hidden away forever.  Some irrational part of him thought perhaps they’d decide he wasn't worth the effort anymore.  That they would turn their backs on him and put him back in Arkham.   _Again._  He didn't know that he could survive that this time.  Not after he'd let them in so close.  Not after he’d let himself fall in love.  So he kept his mouth shut.  

She didn’t directly appear again after that, but he glimpsed her sometimes out of the corner of his eye.  That shape.  That shadow.  He could feel her sometimes too -- the ache in his heart, the tightness in his throat, the weight in his limbs that sometimes made him feel like getting out of bed was unbearably daunting.  Sometimes, when he was feeling especially shitty, he would close his eyes and put his head in his hands, in hopes that he could find her -- so he could demand an explanation:  why was she showing herself to him?  Why now?  

In a way, he’d always known her on some level.  He’d fought her his entire life.  Fought Despair off with every shitty hand that life dealt him.  He’d somehow always kept her at bay, never letting her take root in his heart and mind, because he'd seen too many kids lose themselves to drugs trying to escape her.  Too many people who ended up running into the arms of Death because Despair was too much to bear.  He’d lost his mom that way, but Jason himself had never given in.  Never given up _fighting_... so he didn't understand why now?  Why is it _now_ that she was showing herself to him?  Why?

What terrified him the most was that maybe he already knew the answer:   _she_ wasn’t so much doing this to him, as _he_ was doing this to _himself_.  

He gathered that her appearance must be tied to his mental state, and everything in the last few months -- in the last _year_ \-- had been so... confusing.  Traumatic, if he was being honest, and not just to him, but those around him.  Especially Dick.  Though Dick had mostly recovered, guilt still ate at him whenever he thought about what had happened back in that cave.  He couldn't help but think that it was still somehow his fault.  That he could have done more to prevent it.

And there was so much more he still just didn’t understand.  The choices he had made, and the whole twisted path his life had taken since he was resurrected… it was all somehow tied to a parallel life he couldn’t remember.  It left him feeling lost.  Adrift.  Unsure of himself and what everything that he had done really meant.  And for the first time in a while, he didn't know what he wanted to do.

Dick and Bruce had barred him from patrol for his supposed safety.  Normally Jason wouldn't have given a damn about any of the limitations imposed on him by Bruce.  Normally he wouldn’t have accepted something that seemed akin to being _grounded_ without more of a fight.  Except this time, though he was loathe to admit it, Jason was actually a little afraid.  He couldn't forget that horrible feeling of the demon entrenched in his mind.  He knew Dream did something to try and fix him, but he didn't fully erase the memory of that repulsive darkness.  Sometimes he still felt it lingering.  That dirty feeling that had his skin crawling -- like he had been dragged through filth that left his soul permanently stained with even more ugliness than it had before.  And the threat that it could overtake him again, that demons could be actively searching him out even now… he’d rather die again than let that happen to him again.  He’d rather _die_.

Maybe he _was_ teetering too close to the edge?  Maybe Despair was showing up because Jason had lost sight of himself and everything he had been fighting for.  Maybe she wasn't even being malicious so much as she was _warning_ him?

Jason didn’t know the answer.  All he knew was she was haunting him, and the only thing he could do was just fucking get on with his life.

 

//////////////////////////////

In the weeks that followed his rescue, John Constantine became a regular presence, and though Jason had been skeptical of what magical techniques John could show him, he was surprised to find his company a welcome change to the kid-gloves treatment he had started getting from the rest of the Bats.  

John kept things droll and teasing for the most part, but he also didn't try to sugar coat. “You’re pretty much fucked if a demon catches you in a blood sigil again,” he pronounced.  “And against a true mage, you’re at best just hacking it, but I can show you a few things that might buy enough time  for you to leg it before you get caught.”

His first order of business though, was shooing Dick away.  John played dumb a lot, but Jason noted that underneath the facade he was quite keen.  He picked up that Jason got a little self conscious with Dick hovering constantly, watching every little thing that he did.

“Are you his helicopter parent or his boyfriend?”  John jabbed.  He had started Jason memorizing sigils from the grimoire he had brought, but Dick had been constantly looking over his shoulder, watching as Jason copied the symbols onto pieces of paper.

“I don't trust you,” Dick had shot back.

“Smart man y’are, but I’m only here to impart a few fun tricks to your boy, and it's not a two-for-one special, love.  You're just in the way unless we’re gonna have ourselves a different sort of party without our clothes on, yeah?”  John wagged his brows in mock seduction, though it was more to rile Dick up than anything serious.

Dick got that locked set in his jaw that said he was gearing up for a fight, and Jason intervened before John got smacked and Dick got himself magically cursed.

“Don't fuck around about that kind of thing, John,” he said sternly.  “I don't care who you are or what you can show me, leave Dick alone.”  

And then turning to Dick, “I’ll be fine,” Jason soothed.  He stood up and pulled Dick with him, lacing their fingers together.  “I thought you were gonna start patrol anyhow?”

Dick was reluctant, but eventually he backed down and went out on patrol, and Jason got back to work.

Much to Jason’s relief, John took shortcuts.  He didn't bother with trying to get Jason into long drawn out meditations or anything that involved too much ritual.  His teachers in the All-Caste, including Ducra and Essence, had tried to drill him on the meditative practices required to build the mental acumen required for magic, but Jason had always been more interested in physical training.  He wanted to fight, and at the time he had wanted to learn the skills to kill.  He didn't want to spend days and weeks blundering around trying ‘ _center’_ himself in his own head.  Ducra eventually realized that he simply wasn't stable enough, and gave up on trying to enforce his spiritual training.  She let Jason focus on the material abilities of the All-Blades grafted to his soul.

Now though, magical defense had become a necessity, and Jason _could_ work on meditation if he had to.  Ducra had still forced him through the basics, but he liked John's methods much better.  John quickly figured out that Jason could power sigils using whatever it was he did when he performed a purification.  

“These sigils here,” John pointed to the grimoire, “are like prefab ways to channel magic into patterns,” John explained.  “Lotsa ways to power them, and it normally takes a lot more training or some kinda sacrifice to activate ‘em, but you’re already blasting demons across the planes, so let's give this a try.”

They were on the training floor of their specialized apartment, and John had sectioned out a room and drawn out a large sigil on one of the training mats with a paint pen.  It was the protection sigil Jason had been practicing on paper, meant to keep out any attacking evil like a physical force field.

John indicated for Jason to sit in the center.  He did so, nervously, and only after he had thoroughly inspected it to make sure it matched the grimoire.  Jason had researched the book itself, and while he couldn't dig up anything on the exact copy John had produced, he figured out it was a partly based on something called the _Key of Solomon,_ a medieval grimoire that was well documented and referenced.  Many of the sigils matched, though with slight differences, and Bruce had taken the first few that John had flagged for Jason and ran it by Zatanna.  She confirmed that as long as the sigils matched exactly, it was unlikely that John could use them on Jason for nefarious purposes.

He didn't trust John not to screw him over at some point if it proved advantageous to himself, but at the moment, he seemed to be on the up and up.  So Jason sat himself cross-legged in the circular symbol.

“Now what?”

“Now do exactly what you do with your purification trick,” John lilted around the cigarette in his mouth,  “‘cept you don't need ta punch anything.  Just try and picture the sigil lighting up under your bum.”

 _Okay…._ Jason quirked a disbelieving brow at that, but closed his eyes and did as he was told.  Taking a deep breath, he cleared his mind.  He embraced the darkness… accepted the light… and imagined the sigil he was sitting on powering up with a bright white light.

Nothing happened at first.  A few seconds went by and all Jason could hear was the faint whoosh of John exhaling a breath of smoke, but then the practice mat beneath him started to feel warm.  Hot.  Burning.

“Shit!”  Jason opened his eyes and jumped up.  The sigil was glowing beneath him, but then it dissipated quickly.

“Wasn't sure that would actually work.  Most people couldn't, but now we know you’re special!”  John gave a toothy grin. “It’ll take some practice for you to keep it goin’ though.”

“You could have told me it would burn,” Jason grumbled, “but I guess that's why you had me sit. You're such an asshole.”

“Heh.  Not gonna argue with that, but you're the one with his ass hanging out of his pants!”  John broke down into a loud guffaw.

Sure enough, Jason looked at his rear to find that the sigil had burned a hole in his cargo pants where he had been sitting on the floor.  Amazingly though, his boxers underneath were intact.

“Fuck you!  I liked these pants!”  Jason flipped John the bird, but he had to admit, it _was_ kind of funny.

John kept him working on a few more sigils from the grimoire after that -- mostly protections and deflections -- but there were more that weren't in the book.  Like the masking sigil.  John didn't say exactly where it came from, but he liked to tell stories about how he used it.

“Managed to hide a hag of a succubus from a Lord of Hell for a while with that one,” John looked smugly proud.  “But I've made some improvements since then.  Don’t need to carve this one onto yer soul.  You got enough stuff on it as it is.”

John also taught him simple deflecting sachets that required ingredients from occult _botanicas_ in the ethnic ghettos around crime alley.  Jason had always thought it was just a bunch of new age crap with all the burning candles, herbs and crystals, but it turned out the raw materials could be used for real magic.  However, other spells had less tangible requirements.

“All magic has a price.  Question is what you're willing to pay,” John explained one night as he drew yet another sigil on a piece of paper.  “This one here is a shortcut to get you out of pretty much any bind, but the more the bind, the higher the price.”

They were sitting at the kitchen table this time -- Jason had made the mistake of setting out a plate for John when he came early once, and since then he often bummed dinner off of them.  He rummaged through his coat and produced a set of bat-cuffs (probably stolen from their armory), dangling them in front of Jason and indicating that he should put his hands out.  Dick had been clearing the table after they ate, but once he saw the cuffs he sat himself back down to watch.

“What are you doing with those?”  Dick asked.

“Dontcha have some tights to pull on?”  John winked.

“It can wait.  I want to know what you're doing with those cuffs.”

“I can get out of a set of cuffs, Dick,” Jason rolled his eyes in annoyance at Dick’s  overprotectiveness.

“Not if he’s going to use some kind of magical binding on them.”

John made a show of rolling his eyes as well. “That's the whole point, genius.  I'm gonna show him how to get outta them.”

It did make Jason a little uneasy at the thought of being magically bound, but if whatever John showed him worked, it would be extremely useful should he ever get hit with something like it out in the field.  He held out his wrists, slightly comforted by the fact that Dick was still close by, and John slapped the cuffs on and murmured something under his breath.  The cuffs tightened and held fast.

“Okay now, we're gonna use this sigil, but you can't power it like you can the others.  Spell like this demands a price, and that price has to cost you something dear.”

“A price that's going to cost me?  Like blood?”   The image of the gray spider slashing open his wrist flashed through his mind, and the thought gave him an involuntary shudder.  Jason did his best not to let it show.

“No.  No blood,” John shook his head.  “The price is a _secret_.  Something you've never told a soul.”  He had a grim look on his face.  He wasn’t joking around.  

“Something I’ve never told anyone?  You mean something I don't _want_ to tell anyone?”  Jason was piqued.  That meant it had to be something that would hurt him to reveal.  That was what John meant when he said it would cost.  “You didn't think to mention that before you slapped these on?”

John shrugged, “knew you weren't gonna want to do it.”

Dick reached over and grasped one of Jason's cuffed hands.  “You don't have to do this Jay,” and then turning to John, “take it off. Whatever binding spell you did, remove it and let him out of the cuffs.”

“Sure, I could if you ask nicely, but is that your plan too when a mage -- not so nice as me -- catches you in a trap?”  John said flippantly.  “What's the cost of spilling a little secret versus spending an eternity enslaved?  But it's up to you.”

“That's not fair!”  Dick started, but Jason cut him off.

“No.  It's not fair, but he has a point.”  Jason gritted his teeth.  Fuck.  He hated magic. So. Damn. Much.  “How much of a cost?  How much do I have to tell?

“It’ll always be proportional to the situation.  Something like this,” John tapped the cuffs, “won’t need your deepest, darkest sin, but it can't be as superficial as telling your boyfriend here his blue and orange striped sweater makes him look like a muppet.”

“Hey!”  Dick protested, but John kept going.  

“It’s gotta be personal.  It's gotta rip open some emotional scab, and I know you have plenty of those.”  John leaned forward on the table.  “Find your secret, then picture the sigil in the third eye, and confess.  The truth will set you free and all that!”

“Jay….”  Dick was reaching for his hand again, but Jason pulled away, not wanting to be touched at the moment.  There was a long list of things that he didn't want to tell Dick, and even more he didn't want to tell John, but he needed to know that something like this would work.

“I…,” Jason swallowed, his throat suddenly tight and his mouth dry.  God, he felt like a cigarette… that needy itch for the comforting bite of nicotine and smoke… it jarred him into realizing there _was_ something that came to mind that he could tell.  He closed his eyes, pictured the sigil, and took a breath.  “Sometimes, I… smoke because… because it reminds me of _my mom_.  I don't have any pictures of her, and sometimes I feel like I'm forgetting what she looked like, but I can always remember that she smelled like cigarettes when she held me.”

Catherine had her faults, but Jason always knew she loved him.  His memories of her were beyond precious.  It was the only thing from his childhood worth keeping.  He remembered she always smelled like smoke.  It clung to her hair and clothes.  He remembered the feeling of warmth from being enveloped in her arms, the sound of her voice, and the smell of nicotine on her breath as she kissed his cheek. “I love you, baby. Be a good boy,” she would say.

The memory of his mom flooded his senses, and it _hurt_ more than he expected.  He missed her.  God, he missed her _so much_.  His life was shit even then, but at least they had each other.  The things he did back then too, were all for her.  He would have done anything for her.  He _did_ do everything he could think of for her, and it still hadn't been enough to save her.

He felt a hot sting behind his eyelids, and then there was a sudden crack.  A force jolted around the cuffs on his wrist, and he felt the weight of them lift, and then heard a clatter.  He blinked open his eyes to see the cuffs had shattered into impossible shards onto the table.  Dick was gaping, and John was unusually neutral.  The room felt too hot and stuffy suddenly, and Jason immediately stood up.

“I need some air,” he managed to croak before he all but bolted out of the room.  There was shouting behind him, but he ignored it as he made it to their bedroom and then climbed out the window and onto the roof.  He sat on the ledge of the building, and looked out at the hazy evening skyline.  The cold air felt soothing.  He had been sweating buckets for some reason.  All because of a stupid memory.

He stayed there until his palms started feeling clammy, and then he heard a footstep behind him.  Light and measured, though not to the level of purposeful concealment.  It was Dick.

Jason listened as he approached, but only turned when he felt something tap against his shoulder.  Dick was holding out a packet of cigarettes.  Jason took them and shook out a stick as Dick sat gracefully beside him on the ledge.  

“I'm sorry,” Dick said as he held out a light.  Jason took him up on it, leaning in and taking a long drag that filled his lungs with a soothing burn.

“For what?  You didn't do anything.”

“I’m always giving you a hard time about smoking, but I didn't know that.  About your mom.”  Dick was trying to catch his eye, but Jason didn't want to look at him.

“No.  That's why it's called a secret, Dick-face.”  It came out more acerbic than Jason really meant.  He wasn't angry at Dick, but he couldn't help but let out some of the tension that had built up inside him.

To his credit, Dick didn't seem phased.  He just reached a hand out tentatively, testing Jason’s receptiveness, before entwining their fingers together.  Jason didn't say anything.  He'd said enough for tonight, but he pulled their hands toward him so that Dick was scooting closer, their thighs touching.   He squeezed Dick’s hand back tightly.

They sat there until Jason finished his cigarette.  When they returned inside, John had gone.

 

//////////////////////////////

It was a few weeks later, and Despair was here again.  She showed up in the bathroom mirror when he was talking to Dick, after he bled all over himself when he zoned out and drew the strange sigil in front of Bruce.  It was oddly coincidental, that Despair should be here again, _now_ ,  and he wasn’t entirely sure if what had happened was related to her presence.  His guess was she was being opportunistic.  Reveling in the blow to his sense of safety.  Trying to make a point that he should give up.  That he should stop fighting her.  

Dick couldn't see her, but he had caught Jason staring at her silhouette, huddled behind the glass of the shower.  Again, Jason found he was unable to explain it to Dick, even though his lover could clearly tell he had seen something.

She moved into their bedroom mirror afterwards as he was drawing the masking sigil on himself, just watching again.  Hovering so close he could see her as plainly as he could see Dick sitting beside him.  She had never hung around this long before, and Jason tried to simply ignore her, but there was only so much he could pretend.  She was getting to him.  Getting into his head.  Maybe, he thought, he should just accept it.  That she _had_ _him_ … that he had fallen into despair.

There was a slight movement in the mirror, and Jason flicked his gaze over his shoulder to see that she had moved from just being reflected in the mirror to actually standing behind him, silent but so close he could feel her presence like a chill up his spine.  

"Jay?  What are you looking at?”  Dick was asking again.  “Come on, Jay, I'm really worried about you.”  

Jason turned to see Dick was looking at him questioningly, with concern in his gaze.  

Shit.  He needed to snap out of this… funk.  

“I know, Dickie.  I just… I'm sorry.  Just let me finish.”

He needed to stop worrying the others.  This needed to stop.  He wouldn't let her win, if that was what she was threatening.  And if she was warning him, well he'd take it at face value then.  He needed to get his act together, because if he let himself fall into into her grasp, things would end badly.  Spectacularly badly, because he'd probably end up possessed and smashing through the fabric of reality with a bunch of demons.  Dick would suffer.  Bruce, Alfred, Tim.  Even Damian.  Despair would reign.

So he decided, as he finished painting the last rune across his abs, that he wasn't _done_.  He was still fighting.  He would still give Despair, and every shit-faced demon that was after him, a run for their money.  Either that or die trying.  And he wasn't going to wait around, wallowing and hiding in their apartment until something found him.

He thought back to the previous night, where he had let himself get stupidly drunk.  It wasn't his finest moment, and it had been peppered with angst and melancholy as well as unplanned mayhem, but it had also been kind of fun.  It had been a relief to finally be out.  He had felt better.  Good even.  More like himself than he had in months.

But while John could be fun and entertaining, Jason didn't think he was quite up for wreaking that level of havoc tonight.  Bruce would probably have an aneurysm if something blew up again, tulpa-goat and gas stations notwithstanding.  No, he could do with a more targeted approach -- like kicking the asses of low rent thugs and drug pushers in Crime Alley.  He wanted to go on patrol tonight.

It took some convincing, but Dick finally agreed, and they spent the rest of the afternoon sparring and doing drills until John showed up.

“You boys ever think of taking up mud wrestling?”  John sauntered in just as Dick had tackled Jason to the floor during one of their drills.  Jason rolled with it, and Dick flipped out of the way just as Jason aimed a jab at his solar plexus.  

Dick paused at John's remark, clearly peeved at the innuendo.

“Ugh,” Jason rolled his eyes, “what did I tell you?  Would you stop acting like a creepy old man, John?”

“You’re still on thin ice after last night too!”  Dick added.  “Don't think we’re going to just let it slide.”

John simply shrugged in response and walked up to Jason, pointing to the hem of his shirt. “Let’s see how you got along with doing the masking sigil yourself.”

Jason lifted his shirt to expose the painted symbol on his chest.  He felt self conscious and exposed under the scrutiny, but fortunately, John kept the inspection clinical, and Jason was spared another bout of mother-henning from Dick.

“You did good kid.”  John nodded in approval.  “It's  sound.  We’ll want to get this into an amulet at some point though.  Can’t be drawing it every night, but imbuing objects ain't easy.  Might need some help from Zee for that.”

They moved upstairs as Jason prepared dinner, and Dick explained the situation from earlier, when Jason had gotten a nosebleed while unconsciously drawing an unknown sigil.

“You were channeling, but it might have picked you just ‘cuz you’re the most receptive person here.  Sounds like it didn’t get to see much either.  Your wards weren't tripped, so my guess is it came _with_ someone,” John mused.  “Bat-Dad perhaps?   What's he been messing with lately?”

“Nothing mystical that I'm aware of,” Dick replied, “but that doesn't mean he isn't looking into things and not telling us.  I can't imagine that he hasn't been actually.”

Jason agreed. Now that he thought about it, there was no way Bruce wasn't doing his own investigation on the side.  And it wouldn't be the first time he had kept something significant from them with the excuse that it was for their own good.  It still irked though.  Jason needed to know what Bruce was up to, but pulling teeth would be easier than getting Bruce to talk.  The only way he was going to find out for sure was by getting access to the bat computer.  He’d have to get creative if he was going that route, and he wasn't sure if Dick would approve.  Plus he’d need to use some clever hacking to get around Bruce’s security, so maybe he could convince Tim….

“Hmm,” John’s voice cut into his train of thoughts.  The man appeared thoughtful as he leaned back in his chair.  “With magic, sometimes if you're lookin’ for something, that _something_ starts lookin’ back.”

“I’ll follow up when he gets back from the Watchtower,” Dick added.  “He might be working with Zatanna already, we just don't know.”

Dinner was ready, and Jason set the table as he explained to John he was going out on patrol.

“I'm going out tonight, John.  As Red Hood.  I need a break from the magic stuff, but I wanted you to check to make sure nothing's obviously wrong before I go out.  Especially after what happened earlier.”

“Figured you'd want to be out again tonight.  Guess there's no talking you out of it once you set your mind, I suppose.  All you Bats is barmy as it is.”  John was already digging into the food.  Jason had just made a simple grilled chicken with broccoli, but he could have set out microwave dinners and John would still have gorged on the food like a starving man.  John Constantine was forever an incorrigible freeloader.

“You've been cooped up here too long,” John went on.  “Good thing mother hen,” he pointed at Dick, “let's you off the leash when dad’s not home, eh?”

He grabbed a stack of papers Jason had been practicing sigils on -- spells for flares and decoys -- and began tearing some of them out and folding them into small squares.

“Whatever was here’s gone far as I can tell, but best to be prepared.  You can use these like one-time scrolls in a pinch, but they burn up fast.  Keep to the third eye for anything protection related.  Bring your goat too.  Ah-ah, don't shake your head at me, kid.”  John wagged a finger to punctuate.  “You’ll thank me later, and remember, soon as you pull anything magic, including those fancy swords, you’ll blow the masking.”

“Fine, yes. Okay!”  Jason was a little surprised at how much John was making a fuss.  He didn't think the man actually cared about him all that much.

They cleaned up and got ready for patrol, but on the way to the garage lift, John had him hang back.  Dick was suspicious, but relented and went on ahead to prep the vehicles.

“ _Dum spiro spero_ , mate!”  John clapped his shoulder as he said it.  “Remember that.”

“What?”  Jason tried to figure out what the hell John was talking about.  Sometimes the odd phrases were actually incantations, but other times it was just John talking nonsense.

“ _While I breathe, I hope_.  Saw it carved into an ol’ country lodge in Surrey once.”  John shrugged.   “Some Latin crock a’ shite.”  

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I saw _her_ , mate.  Lurking in the corner. Fat munter with tits hangin’ out like jowels. You know who I'm talkin’ about?”

He did.  Despair.  John had seen Despair.

“Look, all I’m saying is -- whatsit you Americans say?  You look like you might’ve drunk some of her Kool-aid for a while there.  Dum spiro spero, mate. Keep it in mind.  Don’t let her get to you.”

Jason just nodded, slightly dumbfounded that John had seen her as well, but relieved to know he wasn't just going crazy.

“Get on now, kid.  Have fun tonight!  Stay outta trouble and don't call.  I'll let meself out.”

One of John's weird dimensional doors appeared behind him, and he opened it and walked through, giving Jason a final wave.

“I’ll come by again in a couple days, kid!  I’ve a few things ta look into.”  And he was gone.

Jason took the elevator down to where Dick was waiting.   _Have fun_ , John had said.  

Jason had every intention to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \-- I know this chapter meanders a bit, but some of it is set up for future stuff, so thanks for bearing with me.  
> \-- Jason has a knack for picking friends that no one else really likes, hehe. Though Essence seems to be growing on Bruce, but there's still the Corinthian, and now Constantine.  
> \-- According to Wikipedia, Dum Spiro Spero really is inscribed above Burstow Park House, in Surrey England  
> \-- Forgot to add, the idea of a spell costing a secret is from the Saga comic series. It's a really great comic if you haven't read it!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \-- For those who celebrate, Merry Christmas! This ain't exactly a Christmas story, but hope you're having a good one anyhow!  
> \-- Warning - more references to underage b/t Corinthian and Jason, but not shown graphically.  
> \-- For the “Now" part, if I had to jam this into continuity somehow, I would say this is right when Batman is first establishing the Rebirth Detective Comics team, with Tim, Spoiler, Orphan, Clayface, and Batwoman. But before Tim fake dies in the Colony attack and Oz whisks him away.  
> \-- This is mostly New 52/ Rebirth continuity, but mentions of earlier stuff. Just pretend it all fits together okay?  
> \-- For those of you who like Damian, he’s not in this chapter. In my head he is off in SF establishing the new Teen Titans (again, let’s pretend Tim never fake dies). BUT I’m going to work him into play a bit later.

~~~~~ From Jason’s time “in between,” in the Dreaming ~~~~~

_Their liaisons became a regular occurrence, and Jason began seeing the Corinthian as often as he could.  The Corinthian in turn, began exposing Jason more and more to the nature of the Nightmare and ‘his work.’_

_“There aren’t a lot of ways people can escape the nightmare,” the Corinthian explained one day.  They were lying in a plush bed, Jason pillowed against the Corinthian's chest after he had let the Corinthian fuck him again.  It had been a little rough, and Jason felt tired and sore as he listened.  “Those who are strong enough can take control of their dreams -- usually gurus or monks who have a lot of experience being lucid in the Dreaming, but if they can do that they usually don't come to the Nightmare at all.”_

_“What if you're NOT strong enough to take control?” asked Jason, curling into himself a little.  “How do you get out then?”  He recalled the numerous times he got lost in the Nightmare… he didn't know what he would do if the Corinthian didn't come to save him._

_“Most people wake up eventually,” the Corinthian smiled, but the lids around his mouth-eyes narrowed to sinister slits.  “And the fastest way is usually for people to die here -- it disrupts their material ego long enough to remind them they're alive.  You can let the Nightmare kill you,” the Corinthian mimed a gun with his hand and pointed it at Jason. “Or you can kill yourself.”  He pointed his gun hand at his own head._

_“So what about me?  I'm not alive,” Jason puzzled aloud.  “If I get trapped here, what happens to me?”_

_“Most likely you’d just continue being trapped until the Master finds you.  You can be killed, in a sense.  Not your soul, but your ego -- everything about you that makes you Jason Todd -- could be destroyed without a body to snap back to, but the boss doesn’t want that to happen.”_

_“Oh.”_

_“Come on, Jason,” the Corinthian got up and began pulling on his jeans and t-shirt.  “It's fun  fucking you, but it's probably time we stopped talking and I just show you.”_

_“Okay,” Jason felt a twinge of dread.  He knew what the Corinthian did, but so far he hadn't actually seen him do it.  He had seen other nightmares and the horrors from his own mind, but not the Corinthian actually perpetrating a murder._

_The Corinthian led him out of the room and down a sets of stairs into a sort of basement.  It was dark and dank, with only the dim light of a flashlight the Corinthian had produced from somewhere.  As they descended, Jason began to hear sobbing.  The cries of a child._

_As they reached the bottom, Jason saw a small form crawling across the floor, trailing blood in it's wake.  It looked like a boy, maybe ten or eleven, and when he looked up Jason saw that his eyes had been gouged out._

_“Oh god!  Did you do this?”  Jason ran to the boy’s side, putting his arms around him and checking for other injuries.  It looked like his legs were broken.  He had been beaten.  “I… I have to help him.  How do I help him? How could you do this?  How could you!”_

_Jason’s voice came out shrill.  He was panicking.  How could he have slept with such a monster?  How could he have accepted the protection of someone who could do this to a child?_

_“I’ve always told you what I am, Jason.  Do you really want to help him?  Because you can show him mercy, Jason, by waking him up.”  The Corinthian pressed something cold and heavy into his hand.  When Jason looked down, he saw it was a gun._

_“You can kill him, Jason,” the Corinthian knelt beside him, speaking soft and low into his ear.  “If you shoot him, he’ll wake up, and this will all have been a horrible dream.”_

_Jason leveled the gun to the boy's head, but… he couldn't. He couldn't shoot a child, no matter the circumstances.  “I can't,” he said desperately.  “This doesn’t feel right.  There has to be some other way!”_

_“I’ll make this easier for you, Jason.” The Corinthian stood now, grinning wide and gleeful.  “He may look like a kid, because that's how he sees himself here, but he’s not.  He’s a fifty-five year old man named Robert Jennings.  He's an accountant at Wayne Enterprises, and he just fell asleep after he paid thousands of dollars to fuck an actual little boy until he bled all over the sheets.”_

_The Corinthian waved a hand, and the boy in Jason’s arms morphed into a large, balding, overweight man.  Jason jumped away, appalled._

_“Do you recognize him, Jason?”  The Corinthian taunted, “because you should.  He did the same thing to you once upon a time.”_

_Oh god.  Oh god oh godohgodohgod.  Jason DID recognize him.  He was one of Jason’s first johns after he ended up on the streets, and he had beaten Jason and taken him so brutally that he ended up in Doc Thompkins’ clinic for a week._

_Jason gasped.  It was suddenly hard to breathe.  He backed away, trembling badly, until his back hit something solid.  He turned around to see it was the Corinthian.  He leaned down and put his arms around him, snaked a hand down to wrap around Jason’s hand that still held the gun._

_“Shhh.  It's okay.  I’ll help you,” the Corinthian said gently.  He lifted Jason’s hand and aimed the gun at the man's head.  “It's a mercy, just like you wanted to give when you thought he was a little boy.  He’ll wake up and he’ll be fine.  But it's also a punishment, because he's still the sick bastard that he is.  He's here because he needed a reminder of that.”_

_Jason’s knees buckled, but the Corinthian held him up.  His hand was shaking, but the Corinthian’s grip held his finger over the trigger._

_“No.  I… I need to think.  This… Bruce said --.”_

_“Bruce isn't here,” the Corinthian cut off.  “It's okay Jason.  You need to do this.  You need to learn, so when you go back, you can save them.  So you can save Bruce.”_

_Bruce would never accept this, but Destiny’s page had depicted him becoming a killer, and the destruction of the Endless wasn't an option. He had to do this in order to save them.  He had to see this through if he ever wanted to see Bruce or anyone else again.   He could do this. He HAD to do this.  And the sick bastard before him deserved it -- deserved far worse than simply waking up from a nightmare._

_He felt the Corinthian's hand squeeze over his own, forcing him to pull the trigger.  A loud crack sounded, reverberating in Jason's ears._

_When he looked down, a chunk of the man’s head was blown away, leaving a mess of splattered gore on the ground._

_“You said he'd wake up!”  Jason whirled in anger at the Corinthian, aiming a blow at his face with his fist.  “You lied!  You fucker!”_

_“No,” the Corinthian caught his hands and pulled  Jason to his chest.  “I didn’t lie.  That’s just a husk now. A dreamform.  His consciousness is back in the waking.”  The Corinthian kicked out at the corpse, and it crumbled into dust beneath his foot._

_Jason let out a sob, both in relief and defeat.  His breath hitched and hiccuped uncontrollably, and he pushed against the Corinthian at the same time he fisted his shirt in his hands._

_“You did good, Jason,” the Corinthian stroked his hair, before bringing them both to a kneeling position and holding Jason’s face in his hands. “Listen to me.  When you go back, no one is going to understand.  Mortals NEVER understand, but I will.  This is the Nightmare.  This is my purpose.  I am the Dark Mirror, and I am the will of the Lord Dreaming.  You’re the only one who can do what the Master has asked you to do, and I'll help you, Jason.  I'll accept you, even if no one else will.”_

_He leaned in and kissed Jason on the mouth, and Jason opened up to him, because he knew there was no coming back from this.  His mind swirled in despair, because -- he thought -- the Corinthian was right.  Bruce would turn him away when he learned the truth.  This was the cost of saving his family, and in the end, there might only be one person still waiting for him at the end of this path he had agreed to.  The Corinthian._

  


~~~~~ Tim ~~~~~

Tim tapped the final lines of code into the console and hit the switch to migrate the module into the test environment.  He had been having trouble with the robotics AI interface at the newly built Belfry, the new home of the team Bruce was putting together, but this latest fix would be the finishing touch.  He was setting up the test simulation when an alert appeared on his wrist computer.  It was one of the alarm protocols that he set to divert to him before it reached the main bat computer.

Hmm.  That was interesting.  Nightwing was out on a batcycle, which wasn't unusual, but there was a second cycle riding abreast.  The tracker had been disabled on it, but everything was fully functioning on Nightwing’s cycle only a few feet away.  Bruce had installed a protocol to register other bat vehicles within a certain radius, and Tim had reconfigured the algorithm to send an alert in the case a bat vehicle was hijacked.  Or, in this case, the more likely scenario was someone was sneaking out.  

He had anticipated something like this.  Bruce had banned Jason from going out as Red Hood, but they all knew it was only a matter of time before Jason rebelled.   Tim was hardly surprised after hearing about the previous night, with Jason and Constantine somehow causing the destruction of six city blocks and blowing up a gas station.  Frankly, the only thing he was surprised about was that Jason had kept out of trouble for this long.  

Jason was as stubborn as the rest of them, and he was never one to play by the book.  Though he had been effectively grounded for his own safety, Jason still found means to surreptitiously stay in the loop.  And those means were mostly through Tim.  Jason had sent all his files over, and texted constantly to follow-up on several cases that he had been forced to drop.  He hounded Tim relentlessly until he was able to confirm that the bodies of the kids found in the old Crime Alley rail station had been given a proper burial.  Jason hadn't stopped caring about crime fighting, but at the same time, there was something going on with him that Tim couldn't quite pin down.  He was just… even more _off_ ever since he had been recovered from being taken by the spider.

Tim noted that Jason was oddly complacent about being trained by Constantine.  He hadn't been able to drop by Dick and Jason's apartment as much as he would have liked, given the work he was doing to set up the Belfry, but he knew Dick was becoming increasingly distraught at Jason’s behavior.  When he did see Jason in person, he seemed unusually taciturn.  It wasn't just that Constantine, and Jason for that matter, didn't like any of the Bats hovering too closely when they were training.  It was hard to explain, but it was like Jason had boarded himself up and painted the windows shut, like the old buildings in Crime Alley.  It wasn't as if Jason had been completely open with him before, but he had often sought refuge with Tim when the other Bats were too much to handle.  Tim had always figured it was because he was the least likely to push Jason to talk while not being an aggravating little shit like Damian.  But lately, outside of crime-fighting reports, Jason hadn't really reached out to him.  Something back on that demonic plane had shaken him to the core, so much that he had noticeably withdrawn into himself more than before.  

The question now though, was why was he out again, and why was Dick with him as well?  Tim geared up and headed out to find the answer.

He caught up to them on the rooftop of a small office park bordering the warehouse district.  Red Hood had his helmet off and tucked under an arm.  He was wearing a domino, and he was discussing something with Nightwing, but they were speaking too softly for Tim to hear from his perch in the shadows.  Nightwing was emphatic about something, based on his gesticulations, trying to make some kind of point to Jason.

He didn't think they’d appreciate him hacking their comms, and he was about to make himself known when Nightwing suddenly stepped into Red Hood's personal space and kissed him.  It wasn’t overly passionate.  Not in the way of two horny adults about to go at it, but instead, it was slow....  Tender and loving.  They stroked each other's faces, and when they broke the kiss, Nightwing held on and leaned his face into Red Hood's shoulder.

Tim was thankful he was in the shadows, because he was sure that he was flushing a bright red after seeing his two older brothers engage in such an intimate display of affection.  He'd known they were together for quite some time, but for the most part, except for some hand-holding or a peck on the lips that spoke to them being way beyond brothers, Dick and Jason kept their intimate displays strictly behind closed doors.  He hadn't ever witnessed, nor did he want to, anything so unguardedly personal.  He was glad though, that they still had each other after everything they had been through.  Who knew what shape either of them would be in if they hadn't.

He waited a few moments before looking over at them again.  Nightwing and Red Hood.  Dick and Jason.  They were still looking at each other like nothing else in the world mattered.  It was actually kind of sweet….

He hadn't meant to invade their privacy, but he did need to find out why Jason was out as Red Hood when he was supposed to be banned from patrolling.  And after taking a moment to ensure he was composed, he cleared his throat and stepped out of the shadows.

The two of them parted immediately, Red Hood drawing his guns and Nightwing, his escrima.

“You guys should get a room,” Tim said nonchalantly, trying to sound at ease and not at all as awkward as he felt.

“We have a room.”  Dick relaxed immediately and smiled.  “A whole apartment that you set up for us.”

“With the express purpose of giving you two some privacy.”  Tim waved a hand between them, “I didn't just walk into some weird role playing thing, did I?”

“Yeah, that's it exactly,” Jason scoffed.  “We got dressed like this just so we could make out on a rooftop.”  He had donned his helmet again so Tim couldn't see his expression, but the snark was unmistakable.

“Uh huh.  Really though, what's the deal?  Hood, you're not supposed to be out.  I intercepted an alert to the bat computer, but it's only a matter of time before B figures it out.  He's going to be pissed.”

“Which is exactly why we need you!”  Dick stepped forward and put an arm around Tim, pulling him away from Jason and talking in a hushed voice.  “Can you keep him off our backs for tonight?”

“You're joking right?  I saw the footage from last night.  Does a rampaging goat not ring any bells?”

“No magic tonight.  Jay and I made a deal.  Come on, it was either this or he was going out with Constantine again.  Keeping him home isn't an option.  He's…,” Dick pressed his lips together, searching for the right words.  “Constantine is an ass, but he had the right idea.  Jason needs to be out.  He needs this, Tim.  He’s not doing well.”

He let the words sink in.   _Jason wasn't doing well_.  Crap.  None of them, not even Dick, fully understood what had happened to Jason, both with the Endless and his most recent kidnapping by the spider.  But if Dick was chaperoning a patrol at the risk of a furious Batman, it had to be serious.  Dick wouldn't endanger Jason and enrage Bruce just out of spite.

“Look, it's just a night or two, while Batman’s off with the League,” Dick pleaded.  “We’ll keep things low key.  Just give him an outlet to work things out a bit.”

Tim glanced over at Jason, who was waiting several feet away with his arms crossed.  He looked tense and about ready to blow something up, with or without Dick and Tim’s help.  Crap.

“Okay.  I'll keep diverting the alerts, but I'm coming with you.  No buts.”  Tim shook his head as Dick started to protest.  “If anything goes wrong, you'll need backup to get Jason out.”

“Fine,” Dick conceded and waived Jason over.  “Red Robin will cover our tracks, but he’s coming with,” he said to Jason.

“What is this?  The babysitters club?”

“Yes,” Dick replied sternly.  “Because we don't want a repeat of your performance last night.”

“Yes, Mom,” Jason teased.  “Let's just get this show on the road.”

Jason’s agitation and hostility ratcheted down as as they started to move, while Tim’s anxiety ratcheted up.  How the hell was he going to explain this to Bruce if shit hit the fan?  Because how could it not?  This was an awful, stupid, and terrible idea, and he was already regretting that he had let Dick talk him into it.

They made their way across the rooftops and around to the East End.  The revitalization efforts in recent years, coupled with soaring real estate prices, had the bordering neighborhoods gentrifying at a rapid rate.  For better or worse, wealthier residents were moving in who made easy pickings, and resentful long time residents were getting pushed out.  It also meant that there was a lot of “spillover” from the entrenched criminal elements.

They stopped a couple muggings, a carjacking, and after about an hour even Tim had to admit that three former Robins was overkill for patrolling street level crime. By the time they encountered their fourth petty criminal, Jason was boiling over for a real fight.  The would-be mugger was holding a woman at gunpoint on a quiet corner.  Red Hood appeared, grabbed the mugger and threw him face first into a brick wall.  The woman scrambled away and ran as Jason proceeded to crack his arm backward at the elbow, eliciting a pained scream.  He then jabbed a nerve strike to the man’s neck, dropping him unconscious to the ground.  

“Jeez, Hood!” Tim dropped to the ground beside Jason and checked the man for a pulse.  “Ever hear of excessive force?”  The man’s face was a mess of blood.  Probably a broken nose and cheekbone too.

“Ever hear of excessive whining?  He’s not dead,” Jason shrugged, “so what's the problem?”

“The point is that you could have taken him down without breaking his arm and sending him to the hospital for a week.”  It was Dick chiding this time. He had run over from where he had been scouting on the rooftops a building away, and was now standing by Tim checking over the unconscious mugger.  “I'll put in the call to the police.  And the paramedics.  You two wait for me on the roof.”

Jason huffed, but shot a line out to the skyline.  Tim followed, keeping Jason in his line of sight in case he tried to slip away, but it turned out Jason was waiting for a chance to grill him on his dropped projects.

“What's going on with the Odessa mob?  They were getting ready for another set of arms shipments last time.”

“No, Hood,” Tim crossed his arms, suddenly feeling cantankerous about being used for intel.  “I’m not telling you so you can run off and try and take them down on your own.  Not when you're not even supposed to be out.  That’s too big an operation.  It needs planning, and there’s rumours that rival gangs are planning something big.  Plus you’ve already crossed the line into overkill tonight.  We can't risk it.  You're too…uh....”  Oh shit.  Even with the helmet on, Tim could tell Jason was bristling.  He was inadvertently putting his foot on the landmine that was the Red Hood’s temper.

“What?  I’m too what?  Just fucking say it.  Too unstable?  Too volatile?  Unpredictable?”  Jason growled.  “This is fucking bullshit.  You can't keep me locked up and then let me out just long enough to piss on a tree like a damn dog!  Let's do some _real_ work.  I know the girls the Odessa lackeys like to pick up.  I can just go ask _them_ for the latest and greatest if you're not up for it.”

“No one's keeping you locked up!  And I didn't say I wasn't up for it!  We just need to do this smart.”  Tim tried to keep calm.  Jason was getting wound up.   _Crap_.  This was proving to be an even more awful idea than he had originally thought.  This must have been what Dick felt, agreeing to come out with Jason, because if he didn't, Jason was going make up for lost time and hit the Gotham underground like an asteroid.  Taking out the mobs in a giant fireball of pent up frustration.

“Okay, okay,” Tim found himself saying.  “Just let me pull up the data.  They've been leasing buildings with a shell company… maybe we can scout them out.”

Jason calmed down at that, watching in interest as Tim punched commands into his wrist computer.  “I need to get me one of those,” he said as he stepped closer to Tim to get a better look at the projected display.

“Most of the modules can be accessed via the phone I gave you,” Tim replied as he narrowed down the list of buildings to investigate.  “I’ll send you the keys, but if you really want a wearable, I can fabricate one for you.”

“Yeah, sure.”  Tim could almost hear the grin in Jason's voice.  Good.  He was calmed down.  Temper diffused at least for the moment.

“It’s this one,” Jason was suddenly pointing at an address on the display.

“How do you know?”  Tim had narrowed it down to three warehouses, and the one Jason was pointing at was the least likely, in Tim’s opinion.  It was smaller than the other two, with fewer transportation channels.

“I'm a former crime lord,” Jason explained.  “I know these guys.  This is their route, and they don't need a ton of storage because they're not keeping stuff for long.  Smaller shipments, just in time.  In and out.  It's less conspicuous.”

Tim was about to agree that it made sense, when he looked up to see Jason was already launching off the edge of the roof.  

“Hood!”  He switched on the direct comm.  “We’re supposed to wait for Nightwing!”

“The blue bird flies fast.  He'll catch up.”  Jason landed on the opposite building.  “Just send him the coordinates.”

Tim relayed their destination to Dick, who grumbled in exasperation, as he followed after the surprisingly fast and agile form of the Red Hood swinging from the rooftops.  Jason usually used his size and weight to its utmost effectiveness, and with guns blazing it was easy to forget sometimes that he had trained first under the Bat.  But when you really looked and paid attention, you could see that underneath it all, he still loved _flying_.  Like a _Robin_.  Being out fighting crime and kicking ass -- that was what being a Robin was all about, and he could see it now as Jason flipped into his landing.  He was lightening up in anticipation of taking down some goons.  He was starting to have some fun.  Dick was absolutely right.  Jason needed this.

Jason kept pace ahead of him, but he paused long enough to let Tim catch up as they got closer to the target site.  They reached a perch on the tallest nearby building and Tim pulled out his surveillance kit.

“Thermals show there are twenty-two guys hanging around the ground floor.”  He tapped a few commands to pull up the floor plan.  “There’s an office loft, with catwalks.  We can get into the building through there.”

Jason nodded and moved to shoot a line out to the warehouse, but this time Tim was ready.  He moved to block his path.  “Hang on.  We wait for Nightwing.”

There was a tense moment where Tim thought Jason would make a break for it, but then he relaxed.  “Yeah.  Better not give him an aneurysm.” He hunkered down at the building ledge with a pair of binoculars to scan the warehouse.  “He's been screaming in my ear this whole time.  He's only about five minutes away.”

After a few moments, he lowered the binoculars and looked down, helmet still on.  “Look, I’m not actually trying to give you guys a hard time.”  He sounded surprisingly sheepish.  “This situation just sucks, and I'm tired of it.  Of everyone treating me like I'm going to break.  I probably will, but there's nothing you or anyone else can do to stop it.”

“But… you can't just give up.”  Tim struggled to find the right words.  “We’re trying to help you.  You can’t --.”

“I'm not giving up,” Jason cut him short.  “Why the hell do you think I'm out here?  And the last time you guys tried to help me, you stuck me in Arkham.”

“That was different.”

“No.  It wasn't.”

His tone was flat, but it still cut down to the bone.  Putting Jason in Arkham hadn't been Tim's decision, but it was still something he regretted.  

Before Tim could come up with a reply however, a line of dark vans pulled up along the street.  Heavily armed men got out and at first Tim thought they had happened upon a police sting operation, but then Jason cursed.

“Shit.  I recognize those goons.  Ex-military mercs that work for The White Whale,” he said as he looked through his binoculars.  “We’re watching the start of a gang war. Fuck, this is bad.”

Sure enough, men wielding grenade launchers set down and engaged, firing straight at the outside of the warehouse.  The walls exploded in a fiery blaze, and the scene erupted in gunfire.

“I hear explosions,” Nightwing’s anxious voice came in over the comms. “I'm about a minute away.  Please tell me you two didn't start blowing things up.”

“Wasn't us,” Tim replied.  “Looks like Tobias Whale is trying to take out Odessa.  We’ll try to diffuse.  Hood, take out the grenade launchers out here.  I’ll disable the warehouse.”

They lept into action as the area quickly devolved into an all out firefight.  Men in the warehouse had regrouped and were firing back.  Tim watched Jason drop over the edge of the building to disarm the grenadiers, and Tim beelined to the warehouse.

“Maybe we should just let these guys take each other out,” Jason drawled over the comms.  “Save us some trouble down the line.”

“No. Minimize loss of life as much as possible,” Dick’s voice buzzed in.  “Don’t make me repeat myself!  I'm almost there.”

Tim was on top of the warehouse now, ducking through a skylight and onto the catwalks.  The Odessa mobsters were scrambling below, returning fire through the crumbling walls of the warehouse.  Several men were unpacking from several large crates.  Tim mentally cursed when he saw what was inside.

“Guys, we’ve got a problem,” he spoke into the comms.  “They've got military artillery.  Short-range mortars.  High tech missile drones already up and running.  Lexcorp encryption.  Could use some cover while I run a few hacks on the drones.”

“Gotcha covered,” Dick’s voice crackled on the line, and a moment later a flash of black and blue whisked by as Nightwing dropped into the fray below.

Tim set to disabling the drones.  They were already out of range and too heavily armoured for any of the throwing weapons he kept in his arsenal, and Dick had his hands full taking down the goons who were trying to let loose the mortars.  Fastest way to disable them was uploading a virus.  He called up the protocol and let it run before turning back to assess the melee below.

Dick had taken down several of the mobsters, but he was dodging a spray of bullets from inside the warehouse as well as the continued onslaught coming from outside.

“This would be easier if we weren't still under dual fire!  How’re you doing outside, Hood?”  Dick hissed into the comm.

“Grenade launchers down.  This would be easier if there weren't drones still flying around, and if you’d just let me kill some of these guys!”  Jason’s strained voice buzzed back over the line.

Dick sprang forward, throwing a batarang and tackling a nearby mobster to the floor.  Tim flipped down to the floor to help drag the unconscious man out of the line of fire to tie him up.  They took cover as another barrage of bullets sliced through the warehouse from outside.  When the dust cleared, a gaggle of thugs had managed to set up two mortars.  

“Hood!” Tim warned as they launched it through the hole in the wall. “Mortars incoming!”  

“Mortars?  Are you fucking kidding --.”  He was cut off by the sound of the mortars exploding.

“Hood?  Come in.  What's your status?”  Dick said frantically.  “Come on, damnit.  Answer me!”  Even as he continued to hail Jason on the comms, he wasted no time taking down the guys who had launched the mortars.  He rolled behind them, before springing into a series of kicks and jabs.  Dick was hitting hard enough that Tim could almost hear the crack of bones.  Dick could be brutally efficient when pushed, and concern over Jason meant he was _pushed_.

The next few minutes became a blur as they managed to tag team the rest of the mobsters.  Once the last man was down, Tim turned to assess the situation outside.

Two drones were still up in the air, the viral upload protocol he had set to run didn't fully take apparently.  Tim could have hacked them easily if he had been in front of a console, but the live shootout around them hadn't afforded him that luxury, plus Lexcorp encryption could be tough even with his full concentration.  The drones were firing a spray of bullets at the remaining mercs who hadn't managed to flee, and there was a crater in the pavement the size of a truck from the mortars.  There were bodies on the ground as well, but no sign of Jason.

“Hood, come in!”  Dick called again, scanning for signs of Jason.  “What's your status!”  

A figure emerged from behind some rubble.  It was Jason.  He stumbled a few steps before ducking into a roll to dodge another burst of gunfire from a drone, and took cover behind one of the mercenary vans.  “I think…,” Jason’s voice over the comm was slightly slurred, “you guys are trying to talk to me, but I can’t really hear you over the ringing in my ears.”

Jason must have been close enough to the mortar explosion that it caused temporary tinnitus, but he was alive.  And snarky.  Tim let out a breath of relief -- that meant he was probably mostly okay.  Probably.

“Red, keep at disabling those drones,” Dick called out as he lept through the hole in the wall toward Jason.  “I’ll give Hood some backup.”

Tim was already punching a new set of commands into his wrist computer.  Lexcorp had upgraded their encryption, and the firmware kept overriding any new programming detected.

“Nightwing, this is going to take too long to hack,” Tim spoke urgently into the comm.  “We need to find some other way to take them down.”

Just then, Jason jumped atop the van he had been hiding behind with a grenade launcher slung over his shoulder.   He took a few running steps before taking a flying leap off the edge of the van while shooting a grapple line out.  It latched onto one of the drones, causing it to tilt sideways as it took Jason’s weight.  It stopped firing as it tried to stabilize itself, and Jason recoiled the line and swung further upward into the air.  

“Hood, what the hell are you doing?”  Dick had been dodging drone fire, trying to make his way over to Jason’s position.  “That grenade launcher doesn't have range accuracy enough to hit those drones.”  But as Jason sailed over his head it became clear what he was going to do.  He was getting himself close enough so that range and accuracy issues wouldn't come into play.

“I still can't really hear you,” Jason said calmly, “but I'm going to take these things out.  You might need to catch me when I'm done.”

It all happened in a matter of seconds.  Jason somehow managed to swing wide, dodging gunfire from the second drone until he was close enough to fire a grenade at it mid-air.  His mark hit true, and the drone exploded in a fiery blaze.  Jason swung with the recoil, but the blast further destabilized the drone he was attached to, and Jason slid down the line.  He aimed the grenade launcher at the remaining drone, and fired again.  This time the explosion sent him into freefall.  He shot another grapple out toward a nearby building, but his trajectory was off.  He was going to impact the ground hard before he could slow his velocity.

Fortunately, Dick had sprung into action as soon as it became clear what Jason was going to do.  He shot a line up to a nearby building, swinging outwards into a cross path.  They collided and Jason lost his hold, but Dick caught him. Not as gracefully as he would have if he were catching someone on a trapeze, but he managed to stabilize their descent enough that neither of them ended up a red splatter on the ground.  

Their landing was awkward and clumsy.  Jason still hit the ground hard enough to crack his helmet, and Dick tumbled into a sprawl that would leave road rash up and down his arms.

Tim was already racing over, calling up a batmobile to pick them up.  He reached Jason first, and fumbled with the catch on his helmet until it released.  He pulled off Jason's domino mask, and brought a light up to check his pupils.  They were blown wide, before contracting as Jason blinked and turned his head away.

“Ouch,” he groaned, and tried to sit up.

“Don't move yet,” Tim held him down with a palm to his chest.  “Pretty sure you have a concussion.  A car will be here in about a minute.  Don't move til then.  I'll tie you down if I have to.”

“Oh god, Jay.”  Dick had picked himself up and threw himself over Jason, cupping his face and kissing him lightly on the lips.  “That was beyond crazy.  That was downright suicidal.  Don’t you ever do that again!”

Jason snorted in laughter.  “Oh come on, Dickie.  That was fun.”

“No.  It wasn’t.”

“Yes.  It was.”  He smiled briefly before closing his eyes.

Jason had passed out.

Crap.  Tim had _known_ this was an awful, stupid, and terrible idea.  What the hell was he going to tell Bruce now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I don't actually know a lot about military artillery. Forgive me if it didn't make realistic sense, but nothing about this story is realistic! Anyway, hope most of you are still sticking with me! I wish I could write faster, I really do, but work, family, and sleep deprivation has been catching up to me lately! Let me know what you think of the chapter. As always, I love getting comments and feedback, and I think about what you guys say as I'm writing the next chapters :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year's Eve! Whether you're out getting trashed tonight or staying home and watching fireworks on TV, hope you all are staying safe :) I've unfortunately been sick, so I'll thankfully be having a quiet night.

~~~~~ Jason, Now in the Dreaming ~~~~~

Jason was running.  Running like hell across the hot stone platform amidst the hellish plane the spider had brought him to.  He tripped on a jagged stone and fell to the ground, skinning his hands and knees.  A quick glance at himself showed he was wearing nothing but a dirty cloth tied around his hips.  

There was something coming up behind him, and he turned to see it was the writhing form of the legless gray spider, clawing across the stone floor with it's bone-raw fingertips.

He gasped as it latched onto his ankle and something dark snaked up his leg.  Something chillingly cold that quickly enveloped him.  Penetrated him.  Seeped into his body and filled him.  It clouded out his senses until he could see and feel nothing but cold darkness.  He tried to scream, but nothing came out.  He felt like he was being strangled.  Suffocating.  

Amidst the darkness, he felt something crawling _inside_ him.  Undulating and piercing his body, something sharp and stabbing boring into his mind.  And then he felt something _behind_ the darkness.  A pinprick of light… no, it was heat.  Bright white fire.  It touched his forehead, his third eye, and he saw --.

He screamed, and this time the sound of his own voice was blood curdling.  

“Jason!” A voice suddenly in his ear.  A powerful hand wrapped around his own, and yanked him upward.

He was back on the stone platform, huddled into himself on the ground.  The Corinthian was standing before him.

“Stop it, Jason,” the Corinthian pulled him up and put his hands on his shoulders, giving him a good hard shake.  “You're not supposed to remember this.  The boss wanted you to forget.  He _made_ you forget!”

“But… I remember, there was something… like a fire.  Something behind all that darkness.”  Jason shook his head.  There was _something_ , but now he couldn't remember.

“No.  Jason, stop.”  The Corinthian was shaking him again.  “That demon nearly broke you.  If you remember, it might find you!”

“But there was something else -- argh!”  Something was pulling on his ankle again, and Jason fell to the ground.  He turned to see the ground had opened up.  Hot burning fissures from which dark snake-like tentacles reached out, grabbing onto him.  Wrapping around his legs, up his torso, dragging him down into the hot abyss.

“Nng!” Jason struggled.  The Corinthian was hanging onto him with both hands, but his grip was slipping.

“Let go of the memory, Jason,” the Corinthian cried.  “You’re not supposed to remember!”

“I can't,” he cried back.  It was too powerful.  He couldn't get himself to _unsee_ what was happening around him.  He felt the tentacles snake up to his chest, and then his neck, pulling him further down.  “Help me, C! It has me! I can't!”

“Then wake up!  Remember what I taught you.  Wake up from this nightmare!”

The Corinthian suddenly retracted a hand, but then brought it back just as quickly.  Jason felt a cold metal pressed into his palm.  A gun.  The Corinthian had given him a gun, and he maneuvered their hands until he had Jason pressing the gun against his temple.

“Disrupt the ego Jason!  Remind yourself that you’re alive and wake the fuck up!”

“But….”  Shooting himself… like he was committing the ultimate act of giving in.  He couldn't do it.  He was scared.  Jason shook his head even as the dark tentacle tightened around his throat.  “I can't do it, C!  Help me!  Help me pull the trigger!”

“Okay,” the Corinthian looked pained.  His three mouths were curled in anguish.  “I don't want to do this, but you can't remember.  I'm sorry, Jason.”

The Corinthian's hand squeezed around his.  There was a heavy pressure on his index finger.

He pulled the trigger, and Jason screamed.

  


~~~~~ Jason, Now in the Waking ~~~~~

“Aaaagh!”

Jason sat up abruptly, the sound of his own scream echoing in his ears.

“Whoa whoa!  Jay, it's Dick.  Look at me!  It's me.”

Dickie.  It was Dickie.  He reached his hands out, and something grabbed a hold of him.  A hand.  Warm and firm.  He knew that grip like it was his own.  It was Dick.

Jason blinked his eyes some.  Everything looked a little blurry.  He shook his head and rubbed his eyes with a free hand, but that seemed to make it worse.

“Don't do that.  Just lay down.  You have a mild concussion.”

He let himself be pressed backward again, presumably onto a bed.  He looked up again and his vision had cleared some more.  Dick was looking down at him from the bedside, his beautiful aqua blue eyes wide with worry.

A mild concussion?  What would have given him a mild…. Oh.  Jason remembered now.  Those damned drones.

“Sorry,” Jason croaked out.  “That was stupid of me.”

Dick let out a sigh of relief.  “You're okay now, that's all that matters.”

“What's the last thing you remember, Jason?”  Another voice from his other side, and he looked over to see it was Tim.  He looked concerned, but also extremely disquieted.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”  Jason asked.  His voice was raspy, and Tim moved to give him a cup of water, but the looks Tim and Dick were giving him -- it was the sort of look he got when he recovered from going catatonic, but he had been unconscious, right?

“You've been screaming at the top of your lungs,” Tim finally said.  “On and off for the last hour.  We couldn't get you to wake up.”

Oh.  Shit.  He had a nightmare.  They had been surprisingly few and far between, and he usually didn't remember much except to know that the Corinthian often intervened.

Was that what had happened?  He was drawing a blank, except for the Corinthian's voice: _You can’t remember.  I’m sorry, Jason._  

“He didn't let me remember,” Jason muttered.  It felt like an itch niggling in the back of his mind.  He wanted to know… he had a question to ask, and the only way he could ask it was if he went back to sleep.

“What?  Who?  The Dream Lord?”  Tim asked.  “Did you see him?”

“No, it was the Corinthian,” Jason rolled to sit up again.  “I need to talk to him again.”

“What? Where are you going?”  Tim moved to block him from leaving the bed, but Jason pushed passed him.  They were back at their apartment, in a small room Tim had set up with medical equipment for minor injuries.  There was an IV taped to his arm, which he detached, and then regretted it.  He could have used it to sedate himself.  He wanted to get back to sleep so he could talk to the Corinthian.  He needed to ask him… he couldn’t remember at the moment, but he knew that if he went back to sleep he would.  

He marched to a far wall and rifled through the medicine cabinet.  There was a bottle of valium Dick had brought home after a previous injury with the Titans.  He opened it and shook out the contents.  There was only one pill.  That probably wouldn’t be enough.

He turned to scan the rest of the room.  Alfred usually kept them stocked with a set of IV drugs for when they were injured.  Yes. There, in the mini fridge, he opened it and saw a vial of midazolam.  He reached for it, trying to remember the dosage as he also grabbed a nearby syringe.

“Jason!”  There was a hand on him and Jason spun around to see Dick staring at him, eyes wide in alarm.  He realized belatedly that Dick and Tim had been talking at him.  Yelling.  Trying to get his attention.  “What the hell are you doing?  Put that down!”

“Oh fuck,” Jason said in sudden realization.  He was still holding the vial of sedative, a syringe uncapped in his hand.  “Dick… Dickie, this isn’t what it looks like.”  

“Then what is this?  Tell me.  Because look at yourself.  Look at what you're doing.  I want to believe you, but I'm terrified that it is _exactly_ what it looks like.”

“I…”  Jason didn’t have a good reply.  He _was_ going to sedate himself, but now that Dick had stopped him, he realized that yes, that did seem a little crazy.  “You don’t understand.  I just want to talk with him….”

“With the Corinthian.”  Dick stated. It wasn’t a question.

“Yes.”

“How often have you been seeing him?”  Dick’s tone was hard, face serious.  He looked a lot like Bruce when he was grilling them.

“I’m not _seeing_ him!  I just want to ask him some questions,” Jason replied angrily.  “And I don’t know how often, because I don’t remember!”

“You don’t remember.”  Dick was clenching his jaw, but his emotions were clearly running hot.  “You don’t remember what he’s doing to you, but yet you’re willing to risk ODing yourself just so you can talk to him?”

“Don’t you dare say that to me!”  Jason was suddenly livid.  “I’m not going to OD.  I just need to get to sleep, so I can talk to --.”

“I didn’t watch you scream yourself hoarse over the last hour just so you could run back to him, Jay.  You were terrified.  He’s hurting you!”

“He’s _not_ hurting me!”  Jason realized he was yelling now, but he couldn’t help feeling incensed at what Dick was implying.  “Why can’t you guys get it through your thick heads.  He’s trying to help me!”

“How the hell would you know? You said yourself you don’t remember!”  Dick shouted back.  “You need to stop letting him manipulate you!”

“You make it sound like I’m doing this on purpose! You think I _want_ to be a basket case?  You think I _don’t_ want to remember?”

“Stop it guys! This is getting out of hand!”  Tim was in between them now, putting his arms up and taking the vial and syringe from Jason’s hand.  “Dick, go outside and cool off for a moment. Let me talk to Jason.”

Dick didn’t budge, but Tim mimed something with his hands that Jason couldn't understand, and Dick turned and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.  Jason turned on his heel and sat back on the bed, which was actually a small medical gurney.  He put his face in his hands.  His head was pounding something fierce.

Shit.  He hadn’t meant to get into an argument with Dick.  He immediately regretted raising his voice, but it was just so hard sometimes.  Dick and Bruce demanded explanations when he simply didn’t have any.  And the Corinthian, he couldn’t explain it, but he _cared_ for Jason.  He just knew it somehow.

“Jason?  Are you okay?”  There was a slight shift in weight on the gurney, and Jason looked over to see that Tim had sat next to him.

“Yeah,” Jason sighed.  “Shit, I didn’t mean to piss Dick off like that.”

“He’s just really worried.  You know how bad that looked just now, right?”

“Yeah, I know.  It was stupid,” Jason felt genuinely guilty.  “I wasn’t thinking.”

“Well, you do have a concussion,” Tim pointed out, his tone much less mild than his words implied.  “But besides that, you’re not communicating with us.  With Dick especially.  He knows there’s something wrong with you, but you’re not talking to him.  He’s trying to grasp at straws because that's all he has, and he… he really loves you.  Seeing you like this, it's hard on him.  It's hard on all of us.”

“You think this is a walk in the park for me?  Me and Dick… I’m not trying to fuck things up between us, but I can't help it.”  Jason choked slightly on his words.  “This thing with the Endless, and the Corinthian.  I just… I can’t explain it.  I don't know how.  I don’t know what to do, Tim.”

“Honestly, I don’t either, but you have to give us something to work with.  Start with Dick.  You don’t think he’ll understand, but maybe he will.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“He won’t give up on you,” Tim assured.

“He has before.”  Jason didn’t say it, but they both knew what he meant.  Arkham.

The door burst open suddenly, and Dick was standing there with a stricken look on his face.  “That was a mistake!”  He cried, and Jason realized he must have been listening at the door.  “That was a mistake,” he repeated.

He sprang forward and knelt before Jason, clasping his hands in his own.  “I’m sorry, Jay!  I screwed up back then!  I was stupid, and I didn't think.  You’re right, maybe I won’t understand, but maybe I will.  Either way, I won’t make that mistake again.  I won’t give up on you.  I promise.  No matter what.  God, I’m so sorry!”

Jason wasn’t sure if he believed it, but things between them _now_ were different than they were back then.  They were better.  Much better.  He wanted it to be true that Dick would always be there for him, because the thought that he wouldn’t hurt more than he could admit, but he wasn't sure that he really believed it.  Getting thrown in Arkham again would destroy him.  The memory of his time there still hurt, and though he had moved past it for the most part, there was a part of him that couldn't forget.  But what could he do now?  Dick was remorseful, and Jason didn't have much choice now.  He was too entangled to run.  He was too in love to really want to.

Jason squeezed Dick’s hands with his own.  “Dick, you have to believe me.  I’m not trying to make this hard, but I don't understand this either.  I want to remember, but I can't.  And it's driving me crazy not knowing.”

“I know.  I just wish I could help you.”  Dick threw his arms around him, climbing half onto the gurney as he leaned in.

“You already are, Dickie.”  Jason reached his hands up to cup his face, and pulled him into a soft kiss.  Dick opened up to him, drew himself into his arms.  He felt warm.  Comforting.  Safe.  Dick ran his hands down his back, tightening his hold around him.

“Uh…” Tim moved off the bed abruptly.  “I’m just going to leave now.”

“No!”  Dick shot out a hand to grab his wrist, letting go of Jason to pull Tim back.  “Stay.  We have to figure out what we’re going to tell Bruce.”

“What?”  Tim scoffed.  “No way!  I am not going to explain _anything_ to Bruce.  That’s on you two!”  

“But you've been covering our tracks.  Has he noticed yet?”

“Are you kidding?  After that mini war zone last night, how could he not?”  Tim brought up some images on his wrist computer of the aftermath.  At some point he had changed out of his gear, as had Dick, but he still kept the computer strapped to his wrist.  “It's been all over the news.  The only reason he’s not already raining down on us is probably because he’s busy with the League.”

“Shit,” Dick ran a hand through his hair as he paced across the room.  “When’s he going to be back?”

“Not sure.  Tomorrow maybe,” Tim shrugged.  “I’m surprised we haven't already heard from him, but you know how he is.”

“So one more night on the town?”  Jason drawled.

“Absolutely not!” Dick and Tim said in unison.

“Just sayin’.”  Jason put on a mischievous grin, but the truth was two straight nights of passing out, first from drunkenness and then a concussion was a little much, even for him.  His head hurt, and pushing it a third night while recovering from minor head trauma was just asking for brain damage.   He decided actively sedating himself was a bad idea too, given Dick’s reaction, so he resigned himself to a quiet night.

“Your vitals are stabilizing,” Tim stepped closer again as he ran through a basic medical check.  “Brain scans are good, relatively speaking.  But really though, stay in tonight.  If not for you then for the rest of us. Bruce is already gonna freak once he finds out about last night, and Dick’s been so worried he hasn't slept at all since you went down.”

Shit. He hadn't thought about that.  Dick looked wrung out and exhausted, and judging by the bags under his eyes, Tim hadn’t slept either.  A quick glance at the clock showed half the day was already gone, but there was still time for them to catch up on sleep.

“Okay.  Fine, but you have to crash too,” Jason admonished, feeling the approving gaze of Dick upon him as he said it.  “Go get some shut-eye in the spare room.”

“No, I've still got work to do set up the Belfry,” Tim started, but Jason gave him an arched _look_ he had learned from Alfred.

“Work can wait while you get some rest,” Dick added.  “Gotham’s not on fire or under attack at the moment, and I know you’re going back out tonight.  Do everybody a favor and make sure you're at the top of your game.”

“Okay, I guess.”  Tim blinked wearily as he said it, tapping in a few final notes into Jason’s medical chart.  “Just a few hours.  Jason, you’re good to go sit on the couch the rest of the day or something.  Dick, he’s all yours.”

Tim disappeared into their spare bedroom.  Judging by the silence that followed, Jason presumed he had fallen asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.  They were all used to pulling all nighters and being chronically overworked, but Tim pushed it far beyond the extreme sometimes.  He was probably coming off of several nights of very little or no sleep if he was tired enough to crash in their apartment.

Jason moved stiffly as he made his way to their bathroom to cleanup.  His head was still tender and his back a mass of bruises and scrapes from when he had impacted the ground.  They had taken off his body armor when he was unconscious, but the flaking paint of the masking ward was still smeared on his chest.  He would need a shower to wash it off.  

Jason looked at his own reflection in the mirror.  He looked like hell.  His hair was mussed, the side of his face where his helmet cracked was covered in a purpling bruise, and his skin felt sticky from sweat and grime.  He glanced over his shoulder to see Dick was hovering behind him, his arms sporting fresh bandages from where he had skidded on the ground after breaking Jason's fall.  He was looking at Jason through the reflection in the mirror, much like he had the day before when Jason was washing the blood off his face after he had channeled the mysterious sigil.

Fortunately, this time there was no Despair reflected in the mirror.  There was just him and his tired and worried looking lover looking back.

“I didn't say thank you,” Jason suddenly blurted out.

“For what?”

“For taking me out last night.  For letting me just be _me_ for a change.  The ‘old' me anyway.  I don’t know _what_ I am now.”

Dick smiled faintly in response.  “I'm kind of regretting it right now after that stunt you pulled.” He reached a hand out to gently touch Jason’s face, “but you’re still you.  And I still love you.”

“There’s only you, Dickie,” Jason leaned into his touch.  “I know you think there’s something going on with me and the Corinthian, but I only want _you_.”

“Okay.”  Dick put his arms around him, and held him gently.  “I believe you.”

“Come on,” Jason pulled back slightly, “I can tell you're fading.  Go lie down.  I'll just clean up and come join you.”

Later, Dick curled in close as they lay in bed, and as he drifted off to sleep Jason kissed him lightly and stroked his hair.

 _I’m sorry,_ he wanted to say, but couldn’t, because he knew Dick would be upset if he knew what Jason still wanted to do.  Dick didn’t want him to talk to the Corinthian, or the Lord Dream, but he _had to_ if he wanted to learn the truth.

He closed his eyes, focused on the image of the Corinthian, and eventually, he felt himself sink into the Dreaming.

  


//////////////////////////////

“C?  Are you here?”  Jason called out.  It was rare that he was able to do this -- stay lucid as he fell asleep -- but he sometimes managed to do it if he really tried.  Now that he was here in the Dreaming, he recognized where he was.  He was on a dirt path that led into a dark forest on the edge of the Nightmare.  He just had to think of the least threatening of his fears, just like the Corinthian had taught him, in order to navigate through the ever shifting lands of horror.  He was about to call up images of his childhood, of working his way through the narrow streets of Crime Alley, when a voice called behind him.

“No, Jason.”

He turned to see the tall white figure of the Lord Dream.

“The Corinthian is not here, and you will not make your way into the Nightmare,” Dream declared.  “You are pushing yourself too much.  You are remembering things you should not.  I will not allow it.”

“I can't keep doing this,” Jason huffed angrily.  “You say you're trying to protect me, but I'm a fucking mess!  I’m even seeing your damned sister!  What are you hiding from me?  I saw something in that last nightmare.  There was something behind all that… pain.  There was a light….”

“Stop,” Dream held up a hand.  “My sister's hold over you may become stronger if you do not let this go.  You don't understand the consequences of what you seek.  This memory _endangers_ you.”

“Why?  What's so dangerous about this memory?  Just tell me!”  Jason realized he was raising his voice.  He was growing agitated, a strange and intense fear overwhelming him.  “I want to understand.  Is it what the spider said? Something about a circle?”

The Dreaming suddenly began to warp around them.  The dirt path they had been standing on disappeared, and they were suddenly standing in a flat barren landscape where the trunks of enormous towering trees reached far up into a strangely cracked and clouded sky.  They were in that realm the bone spider had taken Jason to when she first abducted him.  Where she had died…. Except it was slightly different… whereas Jason remembered the tree branches were mostly bare, this time the tops of the trees were full of foliage.  Lush and green, and there was a low pulsing.  Like a heartbeat.  The trees were pulsing with a heartbeat.

“What… what's going on?”  It was suddenly hard to breathe.  It wasn't just the memory of the spider.  There was something about this place. Something inexplicably familiar.  Nostalgic even, and a heavy feeling of sadness engulfed him.  Like a pain in his heart, weighing him down.  Like guilt.

“Is this a nightmare?”  Jason collapsed to the ground, his knees suddenly weak and shaking.  “I don't understand.”  It was then that he realized this wasn't something he had dreamed up in the Nightmare, this place was a _memory_.  A memory he had _never actually lived_.

“Stop!”  Dream commanded.  “You are crossing a line.  You are not ready for this.”

“I… I can't.  This is a memory?  I can’t stop it!  How do I stop it?”  There was a stabbing pain that seared through his chest.  He tried to look down but something was dripping into his eyes.  Blood was dripping down his face.  There was blood on his hands.  He felt sick, his stomaching churning until he threw up onto the rocky ground.  Blood.  More blood.  A torrent of it was surrounding them, flooding around the base of the trees.  The blood was rising, like water.  He was going to drown in it.

 _Help!_  He tried to scream, but no sound came out.  Just a gurgle from his throat.  He managed to look up to see a look of shock upon Dreams face.

“Wake,” he said urgently.  “I am ending this.  Go back to the waking!”

Dream reached his hand out and pushed.

It felt like falling into a pool of water.  His mind clouded, memories fading, and the next thing he knew someone was calling him

“Jay?  Are you awake?  What's wrong?”  It was Dick’s voice.  Dick was gently shaking him, and Jason blinked open his eyes, realizing there were tears streaming down his face.

“Jay, why are you crying?”  Dick brushed away his tears, bringing him into a sitting position and holding him.  Stroking his back and kissing his hair.

“I don't know.  I don't remember.”  He held onto Dick and sobbed.  He was drawing a blank again on what he had seen in his dreams, but he felt shaken, the echoes of fear and desperation in a rush of adrenaline that coursed through his body.  Jason glanced around, looking for signs of Despair.  He saw a shadow flit by the edges of his vision, and when he turned she was there, sitting in the corner, drawing her hooked ring from her eye down her cheek.  Several tracks of red blood ran down her face.  

Jason turned away, unable to look anymore.  He turned to Dick, wiping at his eyes.  “I… I don't know if I want to remember anymore.”

“Shhh. It's okay Jay,” Dick soothed, but Jason knew it was a lie.  Everything was not okay.

 

//////////////////////////////

Bruce didn’t turn up the next day, but on the second night John Constantine did, and without his usual aplomb.  He seemed nervous and jittery, pacing back and forth as Jason drifted around the kitchen preparing dinner.

“I can't stay long,” John finally sat down at the kitchen table, and immediately began drumming his fingers.  “There're things happening.  Dunno what yet, but something's building up energy.  Something's come to Gotham.”

“Is it after Jason?”  Dick was clearing the table of various gadgets and electronic parts.  Tim had been putting together a new wearable computer for Jason earlier in the day before he left to get ready to patrol.  “He's been having nightmares.  And that thing that happened with the channeling.  It must be related right?”

“Can’t say for sure, but wouldn't be surprised if something's come to take a closer look.”  John leaned back and clapped his hand over his face before dragging it through his hair.  “The Cult of the Cold Flame, demons and necromancers, even the Lords of Chaos have been makin’ a ruckus lately cuz of the rumours about your boy here.”

“So what do we do?”  Dick asked.

“Nothin’ you can do ‘cept what you're already doing.  For now anyways,” John shrugged.  “Maybe it’ll all blow over.  Maybe it won't.”

Jason didn’t comment, but John’s words added to the sinking feeling in his gut.  Even though he couldn't remember the details, the last nights’ nightmares had left Jason feeling unsettled.  It felt like something bad was going to happen.  It wasn't anything strong enough to trigger the All-blades, but there was definitely something in the air.  He felt like something was out there searching for him, and John seemed to agree.

After dinner, John didn't start with any new lessons.  Instead he grabbed Jason’s hand suddenly and slipped something onto his finger.  Jason tried to extricate his hand, but John held on tightly with both of his own.

“Hey!”  Dick instantly shot up and unclasped their hands.  “What the hell do you think you’re doing!”

Jason looked down to see John had placed some kind of signet ring on his finger, inscribed with none other than the masking sigil.

“I thought you said it was difficult to imbue objects?  That we’d need Zatanna’s help?”  Jason questioned.  He could tell it wasn't just a simple engraving on metal.  The ring buzzed faintly with power.

“This ain't from Zee.  I called in a few favors,” John clipped somewhat cheerlessly, but then with a more devious wink, “it looks good on you.”

“Does it have to be on that finger?”  Dick sounded pissed, and Jason realized why he was angry.  John had put it on his left ring finger, where one would traditionally wear a wedding band.  Jason moved to pull the ring off, but John put a hand out again to stop him.

“Don’t take it off.  The _vena amoris_ , the vein from that finger to the heart, is more symbolic than an actual vein, but that kinda shite is important in magic.  It draws a connection to your soul.  If you want that ring’s protection at full power, keep it on that finger.”

Dick continued to scowl.  The bat-glare he was giving John was deadly, but the latter didn't seem to notice.  Jason sighed, “how do I use this thing then?”

“Same way you do anything I suppose,” John waived his arms around in the air.  “All that woo woo pure light shit.” He grinned and then got up and adjusted his coat.  “Well, be seein’ ya then!”

“Wait, where are you going?”  Jason stood and grabbed his arm before he could summon his dimensional door.  He had thought they would at least work through activating the ring.  John was not at all what you would call reliable, but Jason had come to depend on him for guidance when it came to magic.

“Gotta see a man about a horse,” John hedged.

“What?”  Dick was standing up now too.  “What's that supposed to mean?”

“Just stay here.  Both a’ you.”  John nodded at Dick before waiving a hand to summon a door.  “Told you already, things are happening.  I got things to do.  If something comes up, get your arses to the bat cave, alright?  Zee’s put down the strongest wards possible there.”

With that he stepped through the dimensional door and was gone.

Jason felt oddly abandoned.  He knew John came and went at his own whims, but if “things” were happening around them, he had hoped to have an ally around to back him up.  He looked down at the ring on his finger again.  It was gold and intricately carved.  It felt warm and oddly comforting… a small measure of protection against unknown odds, but Dick was obviously bothered by him wearing it.  Jason felt nothing in the way of romantic feelings for John, but he didn’t want Dick to feel threatened.  He made to remove it, but then Dick wrapped his hand around his.

“No.  Keep it on, Jay.”  He squeezed his hand firmly.  “If Constantine was telling the truth, then I want you to stay safe.”

“It doesn't mean anything, Dick.”  Jason brought their hands to hold close to his chest.  “John's just being a jerk.”

He slid a hand along Dick’s cheek before pulling their mouths together in a kiss.  Dick melted into it, pressing himself into the embrace, arms draping over his shoulders as he led them toward their living room.  Dick pulled off his t-shirt and then laid down on the couch, pulling Jason down on top of him in a breathtaking kiss.   

Jason allowed himself to be led.  Dick had gotten a little protective lately… possessive even.  Under normal circumstances he would be riled, but when it came to their intimate interactions he found he welcomed it.  It made him feel wanted.  It made him feel loved.  It made him want to give Dick everything that he was able to.

“Tell me what you want Dickie. Ask me anything.”  He kissed down his throat and down his chest to tease a nipple with his tongue, before moving back up to taste his mouth again.  “Do you want me to suck you?  Fuck you?  You could take me too, if you want.  Anything.”

He looked into Dick’s eyes, and _christ_ he thought his heart would break into a million pieces under that gaze.  His eyes were glittering with love and lust.  There wasn't anything else in the world nearly as beautiful as the man who was his lover.  He didn't deserve this, and yet Dick was here, wanting him, grinding his hips upward beneath him.

“Tell me, Dickie,” Jason urged.  “What do you want?”

Dick moaned as Jason resumed kissing his throat.  “Your mouth,” Dick finally gasped, “use your mouth.”

Jason tongued a wet line down to Dick’s navel, pausing only when Dick tugged at his shirt.  He shucked his clothes, and then slid his hands into Dick’s sweats, gripping the globe's of his ass as he nuzzled into his groin.  Dick was already hard.  He could feel his shaft through the thin layer of cotton, and there was a spot of wetness where precum had leaked through.

Jason teased him, mouthing the tip of his cock through the tented fabric, and Dick let out a moan in frustration.  He wriggling his hips and shifting out of his sweats altogether, freeing his cock, twitching in anticipation.  Dick reached a hand down to stroke himself, trying to relieve some tension, but Jason batted his hand away.  Instead, he took the tip of Dick’s cock into his mouth, lightly kissing around his glans.  Swirling his tongue into his slit before working down the underside to down between his balls.  Dick let out a sigh as Jason continued downward until he moistened Dick’s entrance with his tongue.  He probed.   Worked Dick until his hole was slick, and then he inserted a finger, rubbing slow circles until Dick was clenching around him.  He lightly thumbed the tip of Dick’s cock with his other hand as lapped at his taint, working up his scrotum to the base of his cock and back.

“Aaah!  Jay.  That's…mmmore... gah!”  Inarticulate sounds were pouring from Dick’s lips as he arched and pulled his legs upward to give Jason better access.

He took Dick’s swollen sex into his mouth then, swallowing him down to the back of his throat, and Dick moaned and mewled.  Until his hands were threading through Jason’s hair, his hips thrusting as Jason swallowed him down and then pulled back to suckle the head of his cock.  He did it again and again, savoring the feel of slick skin and heat in his mouth.  He inserted a second finger into Dick, while continuing to stroke his taint with his thumb, and felt Dick tighten as he increased the suck and pull of his lips.  He worked his head up and down faster, humming and pressing his tongue against against the base of Dick’s cock each time he sucked all the way down to the root.  Dick was trembling now with each pulsing slide, and Jason began thrusting his fingers in time with the bob of his head.

“Oh god, Jay!”  The grip on Jason’s hair tightened  as Dick moved his hips, trying to push the pace even more, thrusting up off the couch at the same time he pulled down on Jason’s hair.  His thighs were trembling, his throaty moans turning into pitched pleas.

“That's it, Jay.  Make me come.  That thing with your tongue… make me come in your mouth!”

Dick arched off the couch, still gripping Jason’s hair so that his face was pressed into his groin.  Jason felt the hot salty ejaculate hit his throat, and he swallowed.   Swallowed Dick so far down he couldn't even breathe.  Dick rode out his orgasm, pulling harder on Jason’s hair as he bucked and spasmed into Jason's face.  Jason continued to work his throat around him, letting Dick press his head down until he felt the tickle of Dick’s pubic hairs against his nose.

“Oh god!”  Dick let out a final cry as he thrust himself a final time deep into Jason’s throat.  He swallowed, feeling his throat squeeze around the head of Dick’s cock.  He held his breath until his lungs began to burn… until his body complained and he gagged slightly, and he pulled away more quickly than he had intended so he could take a breath.

Dick suddenly let go and pulled Jason up.

“Sorry!”  Dick panted.  “Shit, sorry!  I was just....  Did I hurt you?  Are you okay?”

“Fine Dickie,” Jason cleared his throat and coughed, panting hard to make up for sorely needed oxygen.  It had been awhile since he’d deep throated to such a degree.  “I'm fine.”  He smiled, stroked Dick’s face gently, and kissed him, trying to impart there was no need for concern.

“Are you sure?”  Dick cupped his face and kissed him back.  “You'd tell me right?  If I did?  I don't want to hurt you.”

“You didn't.  It's fine.”  If anything, it was Dick’s reaction that was freaking him out.  No one ever cared if he gagged while deep throating before, and when he was a kid he had even passed out on more than one occasion…. But Dick would never do that to him.   _Of course_ he wouldn't.  “I'm fine, Dickie,” he repeated.

Dick seemed skeptical, but he didn't push it.  He just moved in closer to embrace him, half climbing into Jason’s lap.  His erection had flagged, but upon the close contact, his cock perked again, straining against his jeans as Dick’s thigh brushed against him.

Dick took notice, wetted his lips before opening his mouth to speak.  “You didn't come yet.”  

He reached down to undo Jason’s fly, but Jason stopped him.  “No, it's alright.  It's fine.  Just let me catch my breath.”

Jason felt fine.  He really did.  He just didn't want… he felt suddenly uncomfortable for some reason.   He wasn't sure what he didn't want…, but he knew he still felt hot, and Dick’s face was still flushed from climax.  It looked highly erotic, and even if his head was confused, his cock wasn't.  He was hard and tight in his jeans.  “I just… will you…?”

He grabbed Dick’s hand and pressed it against his erection.  Dick looked back at him, a worried look on his face.  He was hesitant, but Jason pressed his hand further against his cock, and Dick relented.

“Let me stroke you then?  Okay?  You can come on top of me.”

That seemed… safe.  Jason nodded, and he let Dick pull him down into another wet kiss.  He relaxed as Dick reached down to push his jeans down his hips, wiping his hand along his own belly to collect a last spurt of come that had pooled there.  He gripped Jason firmly, his hand slick and warm, and began pumping in a quick rhythm as Jason braced himself on elbows and knees over Dick.  It didn't take long for Jason to reach his climax, and Dick sucked his tongue into his mouth as a long drawn out shudder coursed through his body.  Dick continued to stroke his member, milking a stream of come onto his chest until Jason’s overly sensitive body had him pushing Dick’s hand away.

Dick pulled Jason against him then, entwining their legs and bringing his arms up around his shoulders so that they were pressed together from head to toe, smearing hot seed between them in a slick and sticky mess.

“I love you so much, Jay,” Dick murmured as he kissed him.  “I love you.”

There was really only one way Jason should respond, even though he felt stupid every time he managed to say it.  Because it still felt like he had no right to verbalize what he felt in his heart.  Like he didn't deserve to make such an outrageous claim….  He didn't deserve _any_ of this.  He didn't deserve to be happy after everything he had done.

But he needed to say it, because Dick did deserve to know.

Jason returned the kiss, and then pulled back just far enough to look into Dick’s brilliant blue eyes.

“I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In real life, if someone got a concussion, they really really should not be up and moving around immediately after, let alone the antics that Jason gets up to. But whatevs, even regular people in comics have super fast recoveries. Also, Jason has so so many issues, doesn't he?


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a while! I got sick. And then I had to work crazy hours, and then I got sick again. Ugh. Here's hoping I stay healthy for the next while!

~~~~~ From Jason’s time “in between,” in the Dreaming ~~~~~

 

_Jason crept silently down the long marbled halls of the Palace of the Dreaming.  It was early morning, and he had just gotten back from visiting the Nightmare.  He felt tired.  And sore.  A good sore from a romp in bed, but then the Corinthian had taken him out into the Nightmare where, as the Corinthian liked to say, they “stalked for prey.”_

_He didn't like to think about it too hard.  It was disconcerting and unsettling.  Because at some point the consequences of hunting down and putting a bullet in the heads of murderers, child molesters and rapists wouldn't end with them just waking up from the Dreaming.  At some point he would return to the waking, and the bullets would mean they would NEVER wake up again._

_Instead, he tried to focus on learning what the Corinthian taught him.  In a lot of ways, it wasn't so different than what he had done with Batman as Robin.  They criss-crossed the Nightmare, in a section that often resembled the rundown back-alleys of Gotham, searching for people who were doing things that in the waking world would be considered crimes.  Drug lords, murderers, rapists… they would find them and take them down, but whereas Batman would leave them for the police, the Corinthian would kill them, causing them to return to the waking.  And now, Jason was learning to follow suit.  He was learning to become a killer…._

_Shit, he had to stop dwelling on this.  He couldn't think too hard about it because the guilt and remorse would overtake him, and he couldn't let that happen.  He HAD to do this if he was going to save everyone… if he was going to save Bruce and the rest of the universe, even if after all this Bruce would inevitably shun him.  The Endless had said this was the path of least pain, and he believed them.  Because he had to.  The alternative meant that he wouldn't be able to go through with the plan at all._

_His mind continued to cycle through these thoughts until he reached the balcony.  His favorite spot where he liked to read and think.  Where he could watch the most brilliant sunrises and sunsets cascade unimaginable colors across the land of the Dreaming._

_He settled down in a corner, drew his knees up to his chest, and watched as the sun began to rise through the balustrades.  The sky was a deep blackish purple before the warm yellow ombre of the rising sun began to brighten the sky.  A mix of orange and teal blues spread across a haze of low lying clouds._

_He let the scenery overtake his thoughts, calming and clearing his mind.  The knot in his chest felt less tight, the weight of his sacrifice more meaningful when there was still so much beauty to behold.  It was in the midst of all this that a voice suddenly startled him out of his reverie._

_“You have been avoiding me.”_

_Jason nearly jumped off the floor.  It was Dream.  He hadn't heard him come up behind him, but then again it was possible Dream simply materialized rather than walk._

_“You have not reported in the last several days,” Dream said.  He was neutral and serene as always, but there was a hint of something in his voice.  Was that concern?_

_There was a pause where Jason didn't answer, but then Dream added, “Have you been to the Nightmare?”_

_“Yeah, uh, sorry,” Jason replied, feeling caught out.  “I just got back.”_

_“That is longer than what we had agreed to.  I trust the Corinthian has not harmed you?”_

_“No.  He hasn't,” Jason said hastily.  Shit.  He didn't want to get grilled by Dream.  He could get both himself and the Corinthian into serious trouble.  Sometimes things slipped out in the Dreaming -- the barrier between his conscious and subconscious was thinned -- but if anything, Jason was good at deflecting._

_“He’s been… helpful,” Jason continued.  “At showing me the Nightmare.  So that I can learn to… learn to kill.”  Those last words had stuck in his throat more than he wanted to be apparent.  It wasn't a lie, but this whole thing made Jason uncomfortable.  Bruce would be horrified, but it was worth it if it meant saving his life.  And the cost to himself… it was bearable only because the Corinthian WAS helping him.  He was making it easier for Jason by sticking to people that seemingly deserved a bullet in the brain.  Though, at the same time, Jason knew when he wasn't around, the Corinthian didn't limit himself to rapists and murderers.  He didn't limit himself to bullets and quick deaths.  He liked to use knives.  He liked to carve out his victim's eyes.  He liked boys…._

_“There’s no going back, is there?  Not really.”  The words came out unbidden, as Jason was suddenly seized with a pang of sorrow.  “When this is all done, I won't be me, Jason Todd.  I’ll never be Robin again.  I’ll never be what Bruce wanted me to be.  I'll just be a murderer.  A monster.  A nightmare to be feared.  Like the Corinthian.”_

_Dream was silent, and Jason turned his head into his knees, his eyes stinging with the threat of tears.  There was a rustle of cloth and a shifting of shadows.  Jason peaked up to see that Dream had knelt before him._

_“I know this requires a great sacrifice from you Jason.  Such an act could never come from a truly monstrous soul.  We do not know what will happen in the end, but you forget that there appears to be a period where you reconcile with your family.”_

_“But they won't know, will they?  They won't know the truth.”_

_“No.  And neither will you.”_

_Jason turned back to look out over the landscape.  There was little consolation to be had from Dream, apparently, but he could lose himself in the beauty of the Dreaming. He could forget for a short while at least.  “I’d like to be alone, if you don't mind.”_

_“Perhaps now is not the time to be alone, child.”_

_“I'm not a child.”  A child wouldn’t willingly learn to murder.  A child wouldn’t willingly have sex with a monster.  Jason was already far beyond being a child, even before he died._

_“Regardless, this is not something one should bear alone.”  Dream was still kneeling in front of him, and Jason continued to look anywhere but at him, staring fixedly at the landscape._

_“I’m not alone.”  He had the Corinthian, who didn't judge him, and who stood by his side unquestioningly as Jason allowed himself to be corrupted.  Who didn't look at him in horror at the things he had done and was willing to do.  Who showed him kindness despite his nature, and who even showed him a sort of… love, if you could call it that.  He showed Jason that sex could be enjoyable, that it wasn't wrong to fulfill a need for protection, intimacy, and comfort all at once._

_It stood in stark contrast to the Dream Lord, who was always so stoic and neutral.  What could Dream possibly know about what he was going through?  What did he know of everything Jason was giving up?  What did he know about being alive?  What did he know about dying and losing every single thing that was important to you?_

_Dream reached out a hand, perhaps to calm him or offer comfort, and Jason nearly snarled at it._

_“Just… fuck off, will you!  You don't understand.  You don't understand anything!”  Jason cried out in both anger and frustration.  He couldn't deal with this right now.  He didn't want to sit there and be lectured by the Dream Lord standing over him.  He wanted to go back to the Nightmare.  To the Corinthian.  He got to his feet and made to spin on his heel, but suddenly he couldn't move.  Dream was preventing him from leaving._

_There was a swirl of black, a vortex that sucked him in and spun him around, and then suddenly he was standing -- no, he was floating… in a place that was both a void of darkness and filled with light.  Twinkling pinpricks of light.  Starlight.  He was in outer space somewhere._

_“What the fuck!” Jason exclaimed.  “Where are we?”_

_Dream was beside him, floating calmly, and looking toward a stream of debris…  like an asteroid belt, and beyond that, a pulsing star.  A sun._

_“This is a memory that is no longer a memory,” Dream said cryptically.  His mien was oddly   transparent, a troubled expression crossing his face.  “This was a universe that had to be unmade and corrected, all because at one point in time, I was unwilling to do what had to be done.”_

_“What the hell does that even mean?”  Jason stopped trying to find footing, and let himself take in the scene before him.  Something was off.  He wasn’t sure how he could tell, but something was definitely wrong.  Perhaps he was picking up something directly from the Dream Lord, because they were still in the Dreaming and this was some sort of memory, but it felt like… Death.  Dream was showing him the aftermath of some kind of destruction._

_“What happened here?” Jason asked nervously.  “What am I looking at?”_

_“There is something that happens once in a great age -- an abnormality appears, called a vortex, that affects the Dreaming.”   Dream was contemplative, and almost sorrowful as he spoke.  “It breaks down the barriers between the minds that dream.  It causes madness, chaos, and if left unchecked, threatens the stability of the entire universe.”_

_That sounded ominous to Jason, but Dream had said that this universe had been corrected, so he must have stopped it somehow.  “So what did you do?  How did you stop this thing?  This vortex?”_

_Dream shook his head.  “The vortex is not a thing.  It is a_ **_person_** _.  And the only way to stop the destruction, is to end the life of the one wherein the vortex resides.”_

_“So you have to kill them?  You killed this vortex, and it caused all this?”_

_Again, Dream shook his head.  “In this reality, I should have killed her.  She was a girl, but I did not end her as I should have.  I did not want to take an innocent life.  I thought myself too noble and too good to commit murder, even if it meant the salvation of all others in the universe.  So I let her live, and the madness spread like an infection, until I had no choice but to end her entire world.”_

_“You destroyed an entire world?”  Jason was shocked.  He hadn’t realized Dream was capable of such a thing.  To destroy an entire planet… to have that kind of incredible power... it was horrifying.  “But that’s like, what, a billion people?”_

_“More.  And more thereafter, because the infection had spread to the sun, which I refused to destroy.  It spread across the universe.  Countless worlds ended, trillions died because I refused to kill one single girl.”_

_The choice between taking a single life versus countless trillions.  In context it wasn’t a hard choice at all.  Jason swallowed the lump in his throat.  “You should have killed her.”_

_“Yes.”_

_“How did you fix it?”_

_“It is complicated.  I changed reality, so that it was always true that I killed her, but there were consequences.  It set in motion the course of action that would ultimately lead to my own death.”_

_“You died?”  Jason hadn’t even realized that was possible.  He thought the Endless were, well, endless.  He had heard rumours that there had been another Dream before… but he hadn’t realized that this is what that meant._

_“Yes,” Dream said simply._

_“But now you’re back.”_

_“Yes.”_

_“But you’re different.  You’re not exactly the same.  Some part of you died and didn’t come back.”  Realization was dawning as Jason spoke.  “That’s what’s going to happen to me too.  I’ll be different when I go back too.”_

_“Yes.  You will return, and you will kill, Jason, but only because you have to.”_

_“So you do know.  You know what this is like.”   Jason wiped at his eyes, his vision blurring in tears.  Sorrow and grief.  Fear.  Helplessness.  Despair.  An overwhelming mix of emotions boiled over inside him._

_“I do.  And I’m sorry, Jason.  There is no other way.”  Dream put out a comforting hand on his shoulder, and this time, Jason didn’t shy away.  He let Dream turn him around, and suddenly, they were back on the balcony, the memory of the destroyed world seemingly behind them._

_The sun had risen over the landscape of the dreaming.  Beautiful cerulean skies, purple tinged clouds, and a menagerie of exotic birds and dragons flitted across the sky._

 

~~~~~ Bruce ~~~~~  

“You came.”

“Yes, of course,” Essence seemed somewhat affronted at the implication that she wouldn’t have.  “The message you left on the console appeared fairly urgent.  You have found something.”

“Yes.  The data you provided from the last round of sites helped narrow down the dreamstone to this area, but I wasn't able to pinpoint it beyond a roughly ten mile radius from here up into those mountains.”

They were standing by the batwing jet Bruce had landed along the edge of a geologic plateau near the Utah border.  He had come here straight from the Watchtower, leaving a little earlier than he had planned because his scanners had detected a recent spike in the strange energy fluctuations.  There was a chance that whatever had caused it would still be around, and perhaps lead them to the missing dreamstone hidden somewhere in the more isolated corners of the land.

It was a place that was commonly known as the Uintah Basin -- a sparsely populated landscape peppered with small towns, military bases, restricted government research facilities, and remote Native American reservations.  The anomalies he detected appeared most frequently in this area, but he had been unable to determine it's source.  His equipment could only do so much from a remote distance, and there were some things, like magical energies, that couldn't be detected with scientific equipment.  Hence the presence of Essence.

“Do you sense anything?”  The sun had just set, and the long shadows from the nearby cliffs had quickly enveloped them in darkness.  Bruce had his cowl on, dressed as Batman, and the readings from his sensors weren’t picking up anything of note.

“Not exactly,” Essence furrowed her brow in concentration.  “There is something here, but I know not what.  It is magic.  Dark magic, but there is something else as well.”  She closed her eyes, and her body dissipated into smoke before coalescing again a moment later.  “I sense it is coming stronger from there.”  She pointed to the rocky outcropping of cliffs in the distance.

“Hnnn,” Bruce nodded.  “Lead the way.”

They climbed up the rough terrain, or rather Bruce climbed with his grapple gun, while Essence floated close beside him and scanned for threats.  She was surprisingly cooperative when she wanted to be, and was apparently well versed in the ways of working with unpowered humans.  It had Bruce wondering again at her history with Jason.

They continued searching a while, Essence following a vague trail of magic across a terrain of low shrubs that sprouted from a smattering of rock formations and crevices, while Bruce took various readings with his sensors.  They had been making their way like this further in toward the mountains when he noticed it.  Something was trailing them.  Or rather a group of somethings.  Essence noticed it too, she gave Bruce a slight nod of acknowledgement as he tilted his head toward their rear.

“I sense malevolence,” her words calm and quiet.  “Whoever they are, they mean us harm.”

“I’m picking up six, seven heat signatures closing in.  More coming. Get ready.”

Essence scoffed in response.  She wasn't worried about their stalkers apparently, but she floated a little higher, her dark magic beginning to swirl around her.

Their stalkers took that as a sign to attack, and in a sudden blur of motion, something large and powerful shot forward and pounced.  Essence dissipated into a gray mist and Bruce ducked and rolled to the side.  He quickly maneuvered into a defensive stance when another form barreled into him from the side.  Bruce used the momentum to flip and launch the attacker backwards with a kick, giving him enough time to regroup with Essence, who had now reformed at his back.

The figures of their attackers emerged out of the shadows, slinking slowly into the moonlight, some on all fours, some standing on two feet.  Fur covered bodies, long snouts and pointed ears, and mouths full of gleaming sharp teeth.  They were half man and half canine… _werewolves_ of some sort, with brawny torsos and elongated arms.  They were large and snarling as they circled in predatory fervor.

Bruce reached into his belt, pulling out his most potent tranquilizers as one of the werewolves launched toward them.  He dodged, and jammed a tranq up against its neck, but it didn't penetrate.  He could feel the needle snap under the force. Whatever it was, it was invulnerable to being  pierced.

Bruce flipped out of the way again, throwing a bola out as the werewolf lashed out with it's long claws.  This time he managed to catch one of the werewolves and entangle it in a line.  It crashed to the ground, thrashing and growling.  There was little time for anything else but to react however, as another werewolf quickly lunged in to attack.  It was fast.  Faster than Bruce could fully dodge, and it managed to claw through his suit and into the flesh of his shoulder, then slammed it's other fist, palm open into his chest.  He felt a violent current of energy rip through his chest, tasted the tang of coppery blood in his mouth as he was forced backward.  

He managed to take advantage of the momentum however, catching the werewolf by the forearm and swinging it into the pathway of another advancing beast.  They crashed together in a tangle of limbs, and Bruce threw out a net to restrain them. It wouldn't hold them for long.  The first werewolf was already slashing through the bola line, but it bought him a little time to assess the situation.

There were more gathering, creeping out of shadows and crevices in the landscape.  At the same time, he felt a tightness grip his chest.  His pulse was elevated and slightly erratic, like he had taken a jolt of electricity.  He glanced to his side to see Essence was fending off another set of the werewolves, but she was starting to get overwhelmed.  Her magic wasn't doing much good.  The black bolts of power she threw were working to force them physically back, but the werewolves weren't taking any real damage.  They simply got back up and lunged forward again.  Three surrounded her and attacked.  Bruce moved to support, arming himself with a set of Nth metal-laced batarangs from his belt, and using them like knives to stab into one of the creature's back.  It seemed to work, and as he managed to successfully pierce it's thick hide, there was a jolt of something electric coming off the Nth metal, like a taser that sent it toppling to the ground.  It screeched in pain, and then retreated.

He turned back to Essence to see that one of the werewolves had managed to hit her in the chest with an open palm, much like Bruce himself had been hit earlier, as another clawed her from behind.  She quickly dissipated into a smokey mist before reappearing at Bruce’s side with blood dripping down her back.

“This power,” Essence winced as she shot another dark bolt to repel the attacking beasts, “it is not simple witchery.  They must have the dreamstone, but they have corrupted it!”

Bruce nodded his agreement.  “We can't fight them head on.  There are too many, and they’re mostly invulnerable to non-magical attacks.  We need to retreat.”

"Yes.  Let us regather ourselves.”  Essence reached a hand out for Bruce’s arm, evidently in an attempt to fly them to safety, but just as she began to lift off the ground, she collapsed onto her knees in pain.

“What is it?”  Bruce was alarmed.  “You're hurt.”

“Yes, but this is something else.  It is a binding…” she hissed, reaching behind her to touch the blood that still seeped from her back.  “The blood.  They have drawn blood.  From both us us.  Damned beasts!”

“What does that mean? Explain.  Now!”  The werewolves were closing in again.  The ones that Bruce had restrained with nets and bolas were now freed, and they were circling… stalking.

“They have used our blood to bind us.  We are ensnared in some kind of trap.  I cannot gather the power to fly us from here!”

Damn.  She was right.  He could feel _something_ almost pulling at him.  There was a strange constriction in his chest, and he felt weak.  Drained.  He had been in enough fights with plenty of injuries to know that this level of affliction wasn't normal.

Bruce felt like kicking himself.  He hadn't thought through all the scenarios.  He had supplemented his arsenal with the Nth metal infused knuckles and extra batarangs, but they were turning out to be of limited use.  His scans had indicated that the land was deserted and he hadn't anticipated a full-on magical battle.  Essence was meant to be his backup, but she was now impaired as well.

“I’ll call the batwing, come on.”  He hauled her to her feet by the arm, and began to run.  The batwing would be there in a matter of minutes.  They only had to evade their attackers until then.

There was only one direction they could run however -- the werewolves were herding them further toward the craggy foothills of the mountains. They would be cornered pretty soon if they didn't get somewhere clear enough to climb into the batwing.

There was suddenly a loud rumbling around them.  The earth began to shake, causing them to lose their footing.   Jagged columns of rock erupted out of the ground all around them, reaching several stories up into the sky, arching into a dome and enclosing them on all sides.  There was just one small opening behind them, where the werewolves approached.  

They were trapped.  They would have to fight their way out.  Bruce drew out his Nth metal knuckles and his batarangs.  Essence drew a sword she had strapped to her back.

Just as the first of the beasts leapt forward, there was suddenly a burst of smoke.  Someone had thrown a smoke bomb, but Bruce hadn't extracted any from his belt, and Essence seemed unlikely to use any of his tools.  There was a flash of color -- red, yellow and green, and then a voice.

“This way Batman!  Over here!”

They had little option but to follow the mysterious voice.  Bruce turned to see through the haze of smoke that there was now a door in the wall of rock that wasn't there before.  He made toward it, pulling Essence to follow.

“Come on, hurry,” the voice urged.  “I can't keep this open for very long.”

They tumbled through the door, and it immediately closed behind them and disappeared.  It had been some kind of portal, transporting them to a different part of the basin and leaving their attackers behind.  Bruce took in their new surroundings, and was shocked to see it looked very much like the streets of Gotham, except… he could still see the mountain ranges in the distance.  They were still in the Uintah Basin, but it was as if someone had dropped a scene of Gotham's streets into the middle of the landscape.  He checked his wrist console, trying to call and route the batwing, but the signal was dead.

“Batman!  This way!  We need to hide!”  That voice again, and now that they weren't in the midst of being attacked, he could tell the voice was young.  Male.  Not quite that of a young child, but not fully matured either.  A teenager perhaps.

And then he saw it.  The flash of color, as a figure darted across the street several yards away from them.  It was Robin.  Or _a_ Robin.  It wasn't Damian, the costume and build was all wrong.  It resembled one of the early Robins judging by the shortpants, but as the boy disappeared into a nearby building, he could tell by his movements.  Not quite as graceful as Dick, and there was a little more force to his stride, a little sharper in movement that in a fight could manifest as brutal.  It was Jason. The Robin was Jason, but how could that be?

Bruce sprinted to follow, Essence trailing behind, and made his way into the seemingly abandoned building the boy had disappeared into.  

“Up here!”  The boy called out from somewhere upstairs.

They followed the voice to a small upstairs room, vacant save for a few pieces of destroyed furniture.  The boy was by the windows, looking out and scanning the street.  He turned and smiled as Bruce approached… and the image of Jason’s younger self looking at him -- that boyish charm, with a little hint of snark -- it was a heartbreaking reminder of his worst memory.  Bruce had missed this form of Jason dearly, but it was all wrong because it was _fake_.  The boy looking at him wasn't Jason -- that version of him was lost forever in an explosion in Qurac.

Bruce was suddenly livid.  How dare he?  How dare this _thing_ take on the visage of something so precious?  He shot out an arm and grabbed a fist-full of the thing’s tunic and thrust him up against the wall.

“Who are you?”  Bruce growled.

“Whoa! Hang on, B!  It's me! Jas--.”

“No.  You're not!”  Bruce gave the fake-Jason a hard shake.  “Tell me the truth.  Now!”

“Okay!  Jeez!  Just put me down, and I’ll explain!”  The boy cried.  

Bruce let him go, and the boy dropped to the ground and backed away, hands up in the air.

“I didn't want you to think I was one of _them_.  So I took something from your memory.  Something that you’ve been thinking about.   That’s where I found this handsome mug.”  The boy put his hands on his hips and puffed out his chest, a proud grin spread across his face.  It was too much like Jason.   _Exactly_ like Bruce remembered him, in fact.  He was not amused.

“You didn't answer the question.  Who are you, and what do you want?”  Bruce demanded.

“Well aren't you grateful?  I saved you from those things didn't I?”  The boy huffed indignantly.  “I'm just trying to help.”

“Stop evading the question.”  It was eerie the way the boy mimicked Jason’s behavior from back when he was a boy.  Skirting the question was the exact sort of thing Jason would have done when he was a rebellious Robin.

The boy sighed, and turned slightly to scan the street again.  “You should be more worried about those things than me.  They’re gonna find us soon.”

Bruce noted the deflection, but he followed the boy’s train of thought.  They _did_ need to know what they were up against.  “Then tell us what they are.  What do they want?”

“Those things, they're dark witches.  They’re called skinwalkers because they shapeshift, but they do a crap job of it.  They’re corrupted souls that took my power and trapped me here.   They’ve been around here forever.”  The fake-Jason visibly shuddered at that.  “They want to feed you into the _machine_ \-- the blood machine that keeps me here and steals my power.”

“Blood magic!”  Essence cut in.  “I knew it.  They have drawn blood from us already.  They prevented me from using my powers to escape.  So they have trapped us here too?  To do such a binding so quickly takes enormous power.”

“Yeah,” the boy nodded.  “Sorry, I couldn't reach you.  I have a limited range… and I can't fight them.  They’re using my power and draining me.  All I can do is hide.”

“Hnnn,” Bruce grunted.  “I’m going to ask you again, what are you?  You’ve taken the image of Robin from my memory to disguise yourself, but I want to know why?”

The boy backed away from the window and slumped against the wall, pulling his knees up against his chest.  “The truth is, you woke me up.  I've been, I dunno... sleeping, I guess.  For a really long time.  But then I heard you calling me through my sign.”

“The sigil?  Is that what woke you?”  Realization was hitting.  This creature had something to do with the sigil carved into the dreamstone?

“Yeah.  Sigil.  You've been drawing my sigil, and it's like a… like an alarm.  I woke up and I could see you through your machine -- the one you put my sigil into.  I've been watching you for weeks from there.  And one time I managed to follow you out of your cave too.  The truth is, I want to know what _you_ want.”

Bruce debated on how much to tell.  The fake-Jason had saved them, was seemingly trying to keep them safe, but it could also be using them as a means to find the dreamstone for itself.  He didn't know if this strange entity was a force for good or evil.

“I can almost see the wheels turning in your head, B.  I know you're trying to figure me out at the same time I've been trying to get a handle on you, so I'll start.”  The boy lifted his hands to face, and peeled back the domino mask.  The intensely blue eyes of Jason stared back at him, and Bruce was struck with a pang of nostalgia and grief.

“I know you're trying to protect someone,” The fake-Jason continued.  “You're trying to protect this boy.  This _Jason_ , but he’s not a boy anymore is he?  I can tell he’s special.  There’s something about him… but for some reason, I can't see him.  He’s being hidden.  I almost saw him a couple days ago because you were close to him, but you stopped me.”

That moment in Jason’s apartment, when Jason had been practicing sigils in the kitchen.  Something had seemingly taken over, and Bruce had been appalled to see him drawing the very sigil that he had been given by the the Lord Dream to find the dreamstone.

“That was you then?”  Bruce asked.  “You were the one who tried to force him to draw the sigil?”

“Yeah, that was me.  I followed you, but I wasn't trying to hurt him,” the fake-Jason looked down sheepishly.  “I just wanted to see.  And I didn't even know that was him at first. Like I said, I can't see him for some reason.”

“How are you doing this?  How is it possible you can see us from afar?

“I can see as far as the eyes can see.  And further, as long as I follow my sigil.”  The boy had a mischievous grin on his face now, and he rose back up onto his feet.  “You keep asking what I am, so I'll show you, but don't freak out.  I meant it when I said I didn't want you to think I was one of them.  Those skinwalkers can’t shapeshift for shit, but they still try.”

The boy rolled his shoulders and flexed his arms, and his form began to grow.  The costume disappeared as a golden brown fur began to cover his body.   He leaned forward onto all fours, and his head became a long snout with pointed ears.  The transformation was smooth and quick, and before them stood the enormous form of some sort of canine.  At first, Bruce thought it was a wolf, but something about the long narrow snout, rangey build, and large ears made him think it was more like a gigantic coyote.  It was so tall it had to duck it's head down to avoid touching the ceiling.  It's brownish fur was mottled with strange round patterns… it was the sigil...  the symbol of the black pearl.  And the symbol was there in the animal eyes as well, flaring a soft yellow glow amidst a depthless black as it leveled it's gaze at Bruce.  

“This was my first form when the Brother Wolf first called me forth.  They called me The Coyote -- sometimes they called me the Eye of the Skinwalker.”  The entity pulled it's lips back, exposing rows of sharp canine teeth in a cheshire-like grin.  “But that's not what I really am.  I am the Eye, but not of the Skinwalker.”

It lifted a paw, and Bruce reacted with a defensive stance, but the entity didn't advance.  It merely held it outward, as if offering a handshake.

“Let me introduce myself,” the entity continued to smile.  It's mouth didn’t move as it spoke, but the voice was clear, not quite like Jason’s anymore, but older.   More gravely.  It resounded with a small echo about the room.

“You’ve been looking for me,” it continued.  “I’m the _dreamstone_ you’ve been searching for.  I’m the Eye of the Black Pearl, and it's nice to finally meet you in person, Bruce.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * Apologies to anyone who actually is familiar with the Uintah Basin area. I am unfortunately, not familiar with the place, but I did do a little research into it as I was writing this story. The main reason why I wanted to choose this location was because of the inclusion of the skinwalker mythology, and it's relatedness to this area. 
>   * The Uintah Basin is somewhat well known in the paranormal community thanks to a book, Hunt for the Skinwalker, written by Colm Kelleher, a PhD research scientist, and George Knapp, a Peabody and Emmy Award winning journalist. The book details the infamous “Sherman Ranch” - the site of various highly strange and unexplained phenomena, including UFOs, cattle mutilations, sightings of werewolf-like creatures, and others strange happenings that has been well documented. The really strange part of it is was that the ranch was eventually purchased by Robert Bigelow, the owner of Bigelow Aerospace (a real space tech startup). He subsequently sent in a team from his National Institute for Discovery Science, known also as NIDS, to investigate the ranch. Now why would a billionaire aerospace owner send in a scientific team to a random ranch out in the boonies that reported paranormal phenomena? There’s got to be something there. Something strange. And it's the perfect setting for a fanfic based on strange things :) I highly recommend the book if you're interested in purportedly high levels of true creepy. 
> 



	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I realize my chapters have generally gotten longer and longer…. Problem is that I feel like some of the perspectives and scenes go together, but it makes some chapters a little too long…. So what I think I’m going to do is split some of these future chapters up into shorter segments. Hopefully this will also mean I get some of these chapters out faster. Like maybe the next one in a week or two.
> 
> As always, comments on how you think the story is going is most appreciated! Kudos are SUPER appreciated :)

~~~~~ Jason ~~~~~  

He was in a dark place.  Pitch black everywhere, but he could see himself.  He could see his hands in front of him, his feet, his body dressed as the Red Hood as he wandered about.  He was dreaming… but at the same time he knew he _wasn’t_.  He knew the _true_ Dreaming, and this wasn't it.  This was something else, but he didn't know what exactly.

There was a pattering of feet from somewhere in the distance.  Some kind of animal was walking around him.  It sounded almost like a dog -- the click of nails and the scuff of pads against a solid floor.  It was circling him, and occasionally he could see something crisscrossing the darkness.  It was indeed some sort of canine.  Like a wolf… or a coyote.

He watched the animal meander about for a few more moments.  It looked like it was searching for something, sniffing the air and scanning the darkness.  

“Who are you?”  Jason found himself calling out.  He wasn't sure why he did it.  It wasn't smart to call attention to himself when he didn't know if the animal was a threat, but once he did, it was too late. The animal immediately turned toward him, ears perked as it slowly approached.

“I can't see you.”  A voice sounded, even though the animal’s mouth hadn't moved.  “Why can't I see you?”

Judging by its behavior, what the animal said was true.  It seemed to be looking right past him, trying to pinpoint him through the source of Jason’s voice.  As it came closer, Jason could see it had a strange pattern of round symbols on its golden brown coat.  It looked like a series of circles with two triangles inside, connecting at the tips like an hourglass.  It had the same symbol embedded in its large eyes -- they were the size of silver dollars, glowing a soft yellow as it tried to focus on him.

“I’m right here,” Jason finally replied when it got to within a few feet.  “What do you want from me?”  

The coyote, for that's what it looked like, inched closer, still gazing right past him.  It was huge, towering over him by at least a foot or two.  Jason held himself very still as it leaned in and sniffed.

“What is it that _you_ want from _me_?”  The coyote asked.  “You came here, but how?  Are you looking for Batman?”

Jason started at the mention of Batman.  “What do you know about him?”

“He came looking for me, and when I returned his gaze, I found _you_.”

“He was looking for you?”  Jason puzzled.  “Why?  Who _are_ you?”

“You must be the boy.”  The coyote sat back on it's haunches and grinned, if you could call it that.  In all honesty, with all those sharp teeth Jason thought it looked more creepy than anything.  “You're the boy he’s trying to hide,” it continued and leaned in again, sniffing so close Jason could feel hot puffs of air against his face.

“I'm not a boy.”

“No.  You don't smell like one.”  It twitched it's ears and cocked it's head to the side.  “I still can't see you.  Why is that?”

“Maybe I don't want to be seen,” Jason replied.

“I suppose that’s fair.”  The coyote flicked it's tail and pulled it's lips back again into another creepy smile.

“Cut the bullshit.  What's going on?”  Jason was growing impatient.  “I know this isn't the true Dreaming.  Are you keeping me here?”

“No.   _You_ came _here_ , but I should warn you….”  The coyote suddenly turned, as if noticing something in the distance.  “It seems I'm too late.”

“Too late?  Too late for what?”  Jason asked in alarm.

“They found you.  They won't want you to wake up, but I’ll help you.  You have to run.  Go to your Batman cave.  I'll look for you there.”  The coyote suddenly lunged forward, jaws wide and snarling, snapping at his face, and….

//////////////////////////////

“Fuck!”  Jason bolted upright.  He was awake.  He had a fading memory that some kind of animal had attacked him and… told him to go to the Batcave?  It had warned him about something….  Shit.  There was something here in their apartment.  He could feel it.  

The wards were broken.

It was the middle of the night -- still dark, but he wasn't sure what time it was because the bedside clock was off.  The power was out, and when he checked his phone beside the bed, the battery had somehow drained.  Shit.  That wasn't normal.

Dick was still asleep beside him, and he reached out to shake his shoulder.  “Dick, wake up!” he hissed, but Dick didn’t respond.  He tried again, but Dick was in a deep slumber… too deep.  Even at their most exhausted, none of the bats were _this_ unresponsive when it came to waking up.   Something wasn't right.  He wasn’t just asleep, he was _unconscious_.  Jason had been with him the whole time, so he hadn't been drugged.  It had to be _magic_.  That animal… the coyote in his dreams had warned him that something didn't want him to wake up. Fuck!  

The ambient light was dim, but Jason moved quickly to gather his clothes and his weapons, stuffing the goat medallion into his jacket as he did so.  He would likely need all the help he could get.  Something evil was approaching, and dragging an unconscious Dick with him was going to make running difficult.

He glanced down at the ring still on his finger, the one John had given him with the masking sigil.   _The damned thing had better work_ , he thought, as he focused his mind on activating the ring.  He felt it warm slightly, a faint buzz began emanating from it.  Good.  It was working.

He bent back over the bed to try and shake Dick awake again, but it was to no avail.  Whatever was affecting him made sure he was out cold.  He would have to carry him then.  At least he was dressed, Jason thought, in his ridiculous Superman t-shirt and sweats no less.  Getting clothing on an unconscious man was no easy feat, especially not when he was in a hurry.  He hefted Dick’s unconscious form in his arms, his head lolling against Jason’s shoulder as he angled him into a fireman’s carry.  Dick had a slighter build than Jason, but he was by no means small.  Fighting with him in his arms would be almost impossible, and Jason hoped to hell that he could make it to the Batcave before anything found them.  He made toward a hidden escape passage in their closet -- Tim had made sure that every room in their apartment had two exits, and Jason made a mental note to thank his annoyingly brilliant little brother the next time he saw him.

The passage cut through a narrow corridor that housed their plumbing and electrical panels, and opened up into another closet by the elevator lift.  Jason was about to hit the call button, when he noticed the light beside it indicated it was already moving.  Shit.  Something was coming up.  

He backed around the corner, propped Dick against the wall of the closet and closed the door.  He re-entered the hallway and drew his guns.  The lift was a private access elevator that connected directly to their garage, which meant that the exit was compromised.  He would either have to go out the fire escape or take the stairwell.  Neither option was ideal with an unconscious Dick in the mix.

Jason crouched flat against the wall and peaked around the corner.  The lift was still coming up and there wasn’t enough time to run.  A few seconds ticked by that felt like hours, his heart thumping a loud beat in his ears as adrenaline rushed through his veins.  He held his breath and watched, until finally the lift reached their floor and the doors opened.

There was nothing at first, and Jason thought perhaps the lift had been empty, but then a shadow crept out, almost slithering along the floor like a dark blot of ink, before it began to bulge and grow.  The shadow lifted from the ground, muscular arms and a hunched back covered in a dark fur reared up on two legs, and Jason could make out a long snout and pointed ears.  It was some kind of half man, half animal… like a dog-man, or a werewolf.

Christ, of all the dumb horror movie cliches that could come after him, it had to be a fucking _werewolf_.  Still, the thing looked strong, and there was definitely magic underfoot judging by its ability to sink into shadows, so Jason stayed cautious.  He didn't want to underestimate the thing and have Dick end up dead.  He watched a moment longer, assessing what he was up against.  The creature lifted it's head, sniffing the air with a huff and snort, before it cocked it's head in Jason’s direction.  Damn. It found him.

It immediately launched toward him, growling and snapping it's teeth, and Jason leapt out of hiding and fired several shots, hitting it square in the chest.  The creature was knocked backward, but only long enough for it to regain it's balance and pounce forward again.  Shit.   _Was the thing bulletproof?_  Okay then.  This called for a different tactic.

He’d already been feeling the roiling prickle that was the All-blades reacting to magic, but Jason had hoped he wouldn't have to resort to them at all.  Constantine had warned him that calling forth the All-Blades would blow his masking, and he risked the creature seeing more of his abilities than he wanted.  He wouldn't put Dick in danger just for the sake of hiding however.  His lover was unconscious and completely defenseless.  Jason needed to be able to defend them both and get the hell back to the Batcave.

He focused his mind to call the All-Blades into fruition.  A hot burn seared outward from his chest and down his forearms, and in the next breath, the solid heft of the magical swords appeared in his hands.

He kicked and rolled while slashing with his blades, drawing the creature into the wider expanse of the living room.  He needed to keep it away from Dick, who was still hidden and unconscious just inside the secret passage.  He dodged the snapping jaws of the wolf creature and slashed an upward arc across it's chest.  Blood gushed forth, and Jason kicked out hard.  The creature spun with the force of the blow and crashed to the ground, and Jason followed up by stabbing it through the throat with his blade.   Bubbles of blood spurted out from around its mouth.  Jason twisted the blade, grating against bone and gristle until finally the creature stopped moving.  He now had his opening to flee.  

He yanked his blades out and ran back to the passage to grab Dick, hefting his weight over his shoulder and made toward the stairwell.   _Going downstairs was going to be a bitch,_ Jason groused silently to himself, but he needed to hurry if they were going to make it out in one piece.  He had barely made it a half dozen steps when he heard a voice hiss behind him.

“You’re… _him_.”

He whirled around to see the werewolf, still alive, crawling after him.  Jason was barely able to make out the words through the sound of gurgling blood and gasping breath, but the damned thing was definitely well enough to be talking.  It was already pushing up on its hands and feet as it continued, “There were rumours... emissaries of hell spoke about a boy with swords and powerful light.  Looks like we found you!”

It let out a wet rasp, like a breathy laugh, and started advancing on all fours.  Fuck.  Jason had to get out of here fast, which was easier said than done when Dick was basically dead weight on his shoulders.  He was dropping Dick down to the ground again as he spun to fend off another attack.  

"Shapeshifter, healing ability, and shadow powers.  That kind of power must come with a hefty price.  Dark magic at the cost of your soul, am I right?”  Jason tried to snark, tried to keep the creature focused on him, and not Dick.  He countered a swipe of a claw with a parry and brought his All-Blades down upon the creature’s forearm.  It should have severed the limb, but his blades stopped when it hit bone.  The werewolf let out a screech and backed away several steps, blood dripping down it's arm.  Jason held his blades at the ready, he couldn’t change his position much without leaving Dick open.

“If you ask me, you got a raw deal trading your soul for all that _ugly_ ,” he taunted.  “Or maybe this is already the improvement?”  The thing was damn tough and this was taking too long.  The All-Blades were doing damage but the wolf creature was already recovering.  He could see the gash he had just inflicted starting to close.  If he kept this up, eventually he would be overwhelmed.  He needed to end this fight _now_.

He wasn't completely sure how it would work.  Ducra had taught him to use the purification rite against the Untitled, but he had really only recently figured out it worked on other forms of corruption, including the power that had threatened to overtake the Endless and the demons he had encountered with the spider woman.  The beast before him was clearly tainted with dark magic as well however, so there was plenty to purify if anything.  He dodged another swipe of a claw, but this time instead of rolling away, he moved in closer.  

He cleared his mind, accepted the darkness, embraced the light…  and punched the mother fucker right in the jaw.

As had happened before, there was a flash of light, and an animalistic roar erupted out of the werewolf.  As the light subsided, Jason saw it had collapsed onto the ground, it's form no longer large and covered in fur, but smaller… and human.  Sort of.  It was a man, but his skin was dark and leathery -- clearly dead and essentially mummified, shriveled and dry as if the corpse had been aged.  Jason stared at it, slightly shocked, when the door to the stairwell behind him suddenly burst open.

Jason quickly jumped in front of Dick’s unconscious form, swords up and ready to defend, only to recognize the figure that emerged.  It was Red Robin.  Tim.  

“What took you so long?”  Jason tried to sound annoyed, but he was incredibly relieved to see a friendly face.  He lowered the All-Blades, but kept at the ready.  He wasn’t sure if there were more werewolves lurking in the shadows.  “What the fuck is going on?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing,” Tim replied.  He had immediately crouched near Dick to check his vitals.  “Your alarms were triggered and I couldn't get a hold of you.  What happened to Dick?”

“I don't know.  I woke up, and he… didn't.”  Jason swallowed, worry and fear for his lover were coming to the forefront of his mind now that he wasn't busy fighting.  “Something tried to warn me in a dream, a coyote or something.  It woke me up before we were attacked and told me to get to the Batcave.”

“Was it the Dream Lord?”

“No… I don't think so.”  Jason shook his head as he tried to recall the details.  “It felt different for some reason.  I'm not sure I trust it, but it's the only thing we've got to go on.”

Tim nodded, and then turned his attention to the shriveled form beside Jason on the floor.  “Is that… a person?  Did you kill him?”

“I _purified_ it.  Not my fault it reverts to _dead_ without all that dark magic.” Jason felt suddenly irate at the accusation.  He knew how the bats felt about killing, and nowadays he was pretty much following their rules, but in this instance he had no regrets.  He hadn't known that the purification would have actually killed the creature, but he didn't have much of a choice, especially with Dick incapacitated.  He probably would have finished it off even if it managed to survive the purification.  

“Before that it was a friggin’ eight foot tall werewolf that was trying to kill me,” Jason added.

Tim only nodded in response.  He was glancing around, assessing the damage in the apartment, and Jason took it in as well.  There were claw marks up and down the walls, broken furniture, scorch marks from the All-Blades.  There were pools of smeared blood on the floor.  Fortunately, none of it was his.

Tim seemed to be following the same train of thought, for he was now quickly glancing over Jason, assessing for injuries.  When he saw nothing beyond a few scratches, he shifted back to Dick, indicating to Jason to help lift him. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Right, hang on a sec though.”  With Tim keeping watch, Jason made a quick sweep to their stockroom, grabbing his helmet and pulling out the sword the Corinthian had given him so many months ago when his involvement with the Endless was first revealed.  Bullets seemed to simply bounce off of the werewolf creature, and his All-Blades didn’t inflict any sustaining damage.  They would likely need some powerful and unconventional artifacts if they were going to fight these things effectively.  The Sword of Destruction clearly fit that bill.

Jason made it back to the foyer and handed the sword to Tim.  They then hoisted Dick between them and made toward the exit.  Getting Dick down the stairwell was much easier with two people, and fortunately Tim had a bat car waiting.  They packed in, strapped Dick into the back seat, and peeled away with Jason at the wheel.

“I’m not tracking that anything’s following,” Tim was tapping something into the passenger controls, but he looked frustrated.  “The system’s on the fritz.  It's not letting me raise the comms.”

Dick’s unconsciousness, the power outage and phone battery drain at their apartment, and now the comms being out.  Something had planned this attack against them.  Something that had been looking for him.  Jason cursed to himself.  He had known it would have only been a matter of time before something found him, but he had hoped that he would have been more prepared.  Now with an unconscious Dick and John nowhere in sight, there was little else they could do but run until they found backup.  The only thing he had to go on now was that the coyote from his dreams had warned him and told him to go to the Batcave.

Jason wasn’t a man of belief, but he prayed that he could trust the strange coyote as they sped off into the night.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a random thought for you - I've been writing slower lately because I've been tired and don't have the energy like I did middle of last year, and I was trying to figure out what I'm doing different, and the only thing I could think of was I've been slacking off in terms of working out. I use to hit the pool twice a week, and I'd get all these great ideas in the middle of doing laps... so maybe I'll write faster and have more energy if I start working out more... ? We'll see, I guess. Anyhoo, here's another chapter (it was originally going to be part of Chapter 8, but I split it up)!

~~~~~ Jason ~~~~~  

They had made it to the outskirts of the city, into the wooded area at the edges of the Wayne Manor grounds, when something suddenly sideswiped the car out of nowhere.  A large dark form crashed into the passenger side, sending the car careening off the road, only coming to a stop when it collided with the foot of a tree.

Jason was momentarily stunned with the force of the impact, but fortunately the bat vehicles were reinforced for this exact sort of thing.  He came out of his stupor, not quite quickly enough as his head still felt fogged, but conscious enough to know he had avoided major injuries.  

He looked over to see both Dick and Tim were still strapped into their seats, but neither were moving.  Jason reached over to shake his youngest brother on the shoulder.  “Tim! Wake up!”

There was a muffled groan as Tim finally responded and Jason let out the breath he had been holding.  He was alive.  That was good enough for now.  He turned momentarily to see Dick was still in his seat, seemingly uninjured -- breathing, but still unconscious.

“Tim, come on! Wake up!”  Jason kicked open the door of the car and dragged Tim out the door.  “I need you to wake up!  We need to get Dick!”

That seemed to snap Tim out of it.  He dragged himself upright as Jason pulled Dick out of the backseat and hoisted him up over his shoulder.  They needed to move.  Whatever had hit the car was still out there lurking.

“Can you run?”  Jason looked back at Tim.  “I can’t carry both you and Dick.  You need to stay with me.  Can you do that?”  They were about a half a mile down the road from the closest cave entrance, and they would have to run through the woods to access it.

“Yeah,” Tim finally croaked out and nodded.  He seemed a little unsteady, maybe concussed, but he managed to follow Jason as he moved off the road and into the darkness of the woods.  Fortunately, Tim’s mask and Jason’s helmet afforded them night vision.

They had only made it a few paces away from the stretch of road, when Jason noted the telltale crunch of leaves that indicated a third set of footsteps.  Something was following closely behind.  He saw a shadow flit across their path.  Something else paced along the side to the right… and then the left.  Shit.

They were surrounded, which meant they were well and truly fucked.  Jason had barely been able to take down one of the werewolves, let alone several, and he wasn't sure he would be able to do a purification on a large scale. That time he had done it on the demonic plane, the spider and subsequently the locator spell had done something to open up his abilities.  He hadn't been able to access them at the same level in his training with John, and he doubted he had the right level of focus and concentration at the moment.  Plus he still had an unconscious Dick and a concussed Tim to worry about.  If they were going to get away, they needed a distraction.  They needed… that’s right.  They needed _the goat_.

He slipped the gold medallion out of his pocket with his free hand, holding it out as he thought of calling it forth.  “Come on girl,” he murmured.  “Help a guy out, would ya?”

A moment later, there was a thud of something impacting the soil somewhere off to the side.  Jason heard a loud bleating, followed by a ferocious snarl, and then suddenly a ball of fire erupted behind them.

“Was that-- ?”  Tim said from beside him.  He stumbled slightly in the underbrush as he turned to look.

“Yes it was.  Now just keep running!”  Jason said urgently, but Tim was suddenly tackled to the ground -- a werewolf had pounced out of nowhere, and there was a muffled gasp as he saw Tim go down.

“Red!”  Jason turned to see Tim roll with the fall, and then spring back up onto his feet.  He drew something from behind his back and swung an arc.  A fireball erupted that blasted the attacking werewolf away -- it was the Sword of Destruction Jason had handed to him earlier, and he was thankful he had the forethought to give Tim something he could defend himself with.  

His relief didn't last long however, because something suddenly yanked Dick out of his grasp.  Another werewolf was trying to make off with him in his claws, and Jason called his All-Blades to give chase.

“No!  If you bastards hurt him I'll kill you all!”  He sprang forward, aiming to slice at the beast’s achilles tendon, but something else hurtled into him from the other side.  It managed to clamp it's jaws around his leg, dragging him to the ground.

“Fuck you, get off!”  He struggled to focus his mind through the pain, to call up the energy to perform a purification, but then the werewolf suddenly released him.  Something else had impacted it, knocking it off to the side.

“Baaa.”  It was the goat.

“Thanks girl!”  Jason scrambled up again, trying to look for signs of where the beast had taken Dick, but he couldn't see him.

“Hood!  I need backup here!”  Tim was calling out from somewhere beyond the trees, and Jason tried to work his way toward his voice, slashing with his All-Blades, trying to get close enough to perform a purification.  He managed to take one, and then two of them down, their bodies flaring in flashes of light before shriveling into mummified corpses, but there were more of the beasts circling.  

“Red Robin!”  He couldn't see Tim.  He couldn't hear him anymore and there was no sign of Dick.  “No!  Goddamnit!”  He had lost them _both_.

The werewolves were lining up around him in a circle now, and there was a low murmur, like... chanting.  They were casting some kind of spell.

He turned to run, to barrel through before they closed ranks, but he felt a pain spreading in his leg.  He couldn't move it -- it was somehow anchored in place, and he realized he was bleeding from where one of the werewolves had bitten and dragged him earlier.  They had drawn blood… and Constantine had said if he got caught in another blood sigil, it would all be over.

Shit.  He needed to break the circle, but how?  

There was a bleating off to his right, and he looked to see that the goat was still butting away at the beasts, but they were simply getting back up and kicking her out of the way.  She wasn't powerful enough to take them all down.  But maybe… an idea suddenly formed in Jason’s head.  He didn't know if it would work, but he had to try.

“Come here girl!  Come here!”  The goat -- she was a _tulpa_ \-- she was made of _thoughts_ , and maybe if he focused some of his own thoughts into her, she could channel the energy of the purification rite.

The goat broke away upon hearing his voice, and scurried up beside him. He grabbed her head, looked into her strange horizontally slitted eyes, and started talking.  

“Listen to me, uh… Lizzy.  Your name is Lizzy!  And we need to get out of here.  We need to break the circle.  Take this… this light. Take _my_ _light_ , and blow those mother fuckers away!”

He wasn't sure why he had given her a name, but it just spewed out of his mouth as his mind ran through the purification rite.   _Clear the mind, embrace the darkness and accept the light…._ He focused on the goat -- Lizzy -- as he stroked her head and ears.

It seemed to work, because in the next second Lizzy pulled away and turned to face the werewolves.  She was glowing faintly, and as she stomped her hooves a few times, the glow seemed to get brighter.  Another stomp of feet, a flick of her tail, and then she charged.

Jason only saw the first headbutt before he was blinded by a burst of light.  He felt heat, like the burn of flames, and everything around him erupted into a cacophony of inhuman screams.  All the while, he felt something _pulling_ at him.  Draining him.  It was the goat, Lizzy.  She was pulling the energy directly out of him.

At some point he collapsed onto the ground.  He felt cold, and tired.  He was too weak to even lift his head, and he lay there for an unspecified amount of time until he felt Lizzy nuzzle her nose against his shoulder.  

He wasn't sure how much time had passed as he lay on the cold, wet ground, trying to muster up enough energy to stand.  He nearly passed out, his consciousness wavering, but he was suddenly jarred back into alertness when he heard a shout.

“Todd!  What happened here?”  

Christ.  Just what he needed.  The demon brat.  He groaned as he was finally able to drag himself upright.  His leg was free, but it stung like a bitch.  He blinked his eyes, and pulled off his helmet, trying to see in the darkness.  There was a small figure in front of him.  Damian.

“Todd!  Where is Richard?”  The brat demanded.

“Fuck.”  His voice was scratchy and strained.  “They took Dick!  And Tim!”  His head was clearing, images of the fight returning into his mind in full force.  He struggled to stand, and Damian reached a hand out in an attempt to give him some leverage, but Jason ignored it.  He whirled around, looking for signs of where Dick and Tim had gone, but all he saw were the shriveled, mummified corpses of what was left of the werewolves.  

“Who?  Who took them?  Todd!”  Damian was gripping his arm, trying to get his attention.

“Baaa,” Lizzy bleated from several yards away, and Jason rushed over only to find that she was standing over the sword he had given Tim.  It was covered in blood.  Shit.

“Todd!  Did you do this?  Did you kill these creatures?  Where is Richard?”  Damian was shouting again, and Jason turned away and covered his face in his hands.  The kid was too distracting, and he needed to think.  He needed to figure out what to do to save Dick and Tim.

“Ease off it, runt.  He's trying to clear his head,” another voice chimed in, and Jason turned to see it was John Constantine.

“John!  Where the fuck have you been?”  Jason lashed out, and then immediately regretted it.  He tried to reign in his emotions, but he felt helpless and angry.  His incompetence had put his family in danger.  When he finally figured out how to use the goat to channel his power, it had been too late.  Dick and Tim were _taken_.  

“Jeezus, kid.  This isn’t _my fault_.  I've been looking for you!”  John shifted to pull a pack of cigarettes out of his coat.  His stance was casual, seemingly nonchalant, but Jason could see the tension in his shoulders.  He saw the way his fingers fumbled as he lit his cigarette.  

“There’s a surge of demonic activity in Gotham.  A war might even be breaking out.  Things’ve gotten a lead on you apparently.  Zee’s ' _sorting it out'_ as we speak,” John continued.  “She’s doing her best to hold off a magewar.  Meanwhile I found your apartment trashed and reeking of dark magic.  I came to your dad’s to see if you made it here.”

“I found this boorish man in the cave when the perimeter alarms went off,” Damian added.  “He followed me here when I came to investigate.  Todd, I am waiting for an explanation.  Where is Richard?  What is going on?”

“Let’s get a move on first,” John stepped forward and grabbed Jason’s hand.  “Activate the masking.  We’re out in the open here.  We should get back to your bat cave where it's warded.”

 

//////////////////////////////

They set out back to the cave entrance after Jason collected the sword and handed it to Damian.  They covered the half mile in just a few minutes, despite the fact that Jason was limping heavily from the gash on his leg.  Lizzy the goat followed closely behind them -- Jason didn't want to put her back in the medallion when they were still in danger.  He managed to explain the gist of the situation as they went.

Once back in the main part of the cave, Alfred rushed forward to meet them.  The look on his face made it clear it wasn't good news.

“I'm afraid we have a visitor, sirs.   _Another_ visitor, that is,” he narrowed his eyes at John.  He had expressed to Jason on more than one occasion that he didn't like the man.  True to his manners however, Alfred never spoke out of turn, but it was clear that he attributed whoever this second guest was to John's presence.

They followed Alfred to the main terminal, and Jason was shocked to see a strange symbol displayed prominently on each of the screens of the bat computer.  His memory of his earlier dream came rushing into clarity -- it was the same symbol he had seen emblazoned in the eyes of the coyote from his dream.

“This symbol appeared soon after Master Damian and Mr. Constantine left,” Alfred explained.  “It appears to be sentient, and has circumvented all the security protocols in the system.  It has been non-hostile however.”  Alfred leveled his gaze at Jason, “It has been asking for you.”

“Is that you, Jason?  I still can't see you.”  A disembodied voice resounded throughout the cave, and the symbol --  all of them synchronized on the screens -- narrowed in shape, as if it were some sort of squinting eye.  Jason looked down at the masking ring still on his finger, it was warm and buzzing slightly.  He had reactivated it at John's prompting, and apparently it was working if the entity claimed he couldn't be seen.

“What is this?  How did you get into the computer!”  Damian pointed an accusing finger at the screen, and Jason immediately stepped in front of him in an attempt to shield him from view.

“Your clothing -- you’re another Robin,” the voice mused.  “There are so many.  Is that you, Jason?  Trying to block my view?”

“I'm here,” Jason finally spoke, but he kept himself in front of Damian.  “You're the coyote I saw from my dream.  Who are you?  What do you have to do with those things that attacked us?”

“The _skinwalkers_.  They’re the ones who trapped me.  They are the ones who have also trapped your father and your friend -- Essence.  They have taken your brothers as well.”

John let out a low whistle and shook his head.  “Bad news, those skinwalkers.  Dark witches who use blood magic.  Worst kind of bad magic there is.”

Jason felt a pit forming in his stomach at that, as if he didn't already know the situation was rapidly sinking from bad to worse.  “They have Batman and Essence too?  How?”

“The skinwalkers steal my power.  They may have seen what I saw when I returned your father's gaze.  Your father came looking for me, but _they_ found him first.”

“But why?”  Jason asked in confusion.  It didn't make any sense.  Bruce hated magic.  He hated that Jason was learning it.  He wouldn't intentionally call attention to himself like this unless he had a reason.  “Why was he looking for you? Who are you?”

“Too many questions,” the voice sounded slightly annoyed.  “This is too taxing.  I don’t have the power to keep this going, and your family are in danger.  I have your father and Essence.  They are safe for now.   I'll find your brothers.  Bring your Laughing Magician and come find me.”

With that, the eye disappeared and was replaced with a map, and a blinking set of coordinates somewhere in the Southwest.  

“I’ll prep the plane,” Damian was already scurrying to the console.  “At Mach 3 we can get there in an hour.”

“Right.”  Jason nodded.  He'd need to bandage his leg enough that he could fight.  He would need to bring Lizzy, the magic goat that could help him purify those fuckers, and he would need someone who knew actual magic to help him figure this out.  He turned back to John,  “It called you the Laughing Magician?  You need to come.  Let's go.”

“Hang on a minute,” John shook his head.  He didn't move from where he had been standing.  “Look, I like you kid.  You're a constant reminder to the Bats that he’s a royal fuck-up just like the rest of us, but I didn't sign up to walk you right into a trap.  These skinwalkers are bad news.  And whatever that thing was, you don't know if you can trust it.”

“You think I don't already know that?”  Jason felt his emotions surging, and made a conscious effort to dial it down.  He needed John's help, and the man already had a reputation for cutting and running when shit when down.  If he wanted John to stay, he needed to not piss him off.  “John, those things already found me, and they’ll find me again.  I won't keep hiding, even if it's a trap.”

John was trying unsuccessfully to light a cigarette again, and Jason noted the same nervousness he had seen before in John's fingers.  “If you go there, there's no turning back.  The path of magic, it's not something you should be walking down, Jason.  You just need to know enough to keep out of it.”

“But I can't.  I can't keep out of it.  They need me.  My family needs me.”  

 _Family_.  At one point, he never thought he would ever think of the various bats as family ever again, but that was the only way he could really describe them at this point.  They weren’t just his friends.  They argued, they disagreed, and sometimes they didn’t even particularly like each other, but they would all still come running for each other if something happened.

He reached a hand out to still John's fumbling fingers.  “John, I need your help.  I know you've been trying to protect me.  That’s why you gave me this ring, but it's not going to be enough.  If anything happens to me, I need you there.  You said it yourself, if shit goes down and I lose control, there needs to be someone around who can _put me down_.”  

“Christ, kid!  You heard that?  I didn't mean it… jeezus!  That’s _not_ what this has been about.”

“It's fine, John.  You do what you have to.  That's why I need your help.”  Jason felt oddly calm.  It was disturbingly comforting to know that if push came to shove and Jason was possessed again, John would consider the possibility of ending it all.  Bruce wouldn't do it, and neither would Dick or Tim.  They’d kill themselves trying to save him.  Damian he wasn't sure about, but despite the friction between them, he didn't want the kid to have to make that choice.

John pulled his hands away, finally collecting himself enough to light his cigarette with a flick of magic from his fingers.  “Aw, sod it.  Fine.  I'm coming, but only to keep you from mucking things up even more.”

Jason nodded, relieved and filled with dread at the same time.  “Okay.  Good.  Let's do this.”

He would get them all back.  His family, Essence, all of them.   He would get them back safe, even if it killed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well there you go! More goat! And she has a name now! Why Lizzy you say? Well she's named after Elizabeth Bennet of course, from Pride and Prejudice. And now we have Damian! We're going to get more Damian, which could be both a good and bad thing!


	10. Chapter 10

~~~~~ From Jason’s time “in between,” in the Dreaming ~~~~~

_“Are you ready to go, Jason?”  Death had walked up to stand beside him.  She was leaning in close, her hands on her knees as she peered down at him._

_“Uh, yeah,” he responded quietly.  He had been huddled down on the balcony again, watching the brilliant sunset once more.  This time it was like a vibrant renaissance painting, the sun a torrid realgar, emitting a burnt yellow glow that faded into a depthless dark blue sky._

_He got up slowly, his knees felt suddenly weak.  The truth was he wasn't even close to feeling ready.  He was terrified.  Jason didn't want to leave the Dreaming.  He didn't want to go back to the waking yet.  Maybe he didn't ever.  If it weren't for that stupid page and the threat to the whole universe, he wouldn't. He had seen the pictograms… he had seen the horror, and the pain that would come next. He didn't know if he could face it._

_“Jason?”  Death prodded, “we don't have much time.  The Dreaming will still be here for you next time you go to sleep, but I've got a limited window to get your soul back in your body.”_

_“Yeah, okay,” he managed to say._

_Death put a comforting hand on his shoulder, trying to draw him away, but Jason couldn't bring himself to move just yet.  Everything about what they were about to do felt so wrong suddenly.  He had died, and that should have been the end of the boy known as Jason Todd.  His life had been a series of painful memories interspersed with very brief moments of joy.  He had regretted his choices, and he missed Bruce and Alfred, but he had been ready to move on._

_“I think I get it now.  What you do.  Who you are.”   Jason looked into Death's dark eyes, before turning away to look back at the last rays of ochre yellow light disappearing over the horizon.  “Everyone and every story gets to have an ending.  It means you’re always going somewhere. You're not stuck forever in limbo.  Everyone gets to move on eventually, and maybe even start over.  It's a gift.”_

_“Yeah,” Death wrapped her arms around him.  She felt warm and comforting.  It reminded Jason a little bit of when his mother, Catherine used cradle him in his arms.  He felt a similar peace, a similar feeling of being loved._

_“That’s exactly it,” Death spoke soothingly as she continued to hold him gently.  “You totally get me.”_

_“My story should have ended.  It did, I guess, in all the ways that count at least.”_

_“Yeah.  It did.  But think of this like a recast.  You're going back, but in a different role.  You’ll be playing a different part this time, and I'm not gonna lie, it's gonna be hard.”_

_“The role of a lifetime huh?”  Jason tried to muster up a smile, but he couldn't help the bitterness that crept into his voice.  “Playing the goddamned villain this time.  I hope I at least get an Oscar.”_

_“Well, you’ll have my thanks.  That’s better than an Oscar.”_

_The gratitude of Death herself.  That was certainly something, and he appreciated the deal she had been willing to make, that he would be able to at least have some time with whatever family was still willing to have him.  But in the end, after doing the things he would have to do… there might not be anyone in the waking who would still stand by him._

_“You’ll be there right?  After all this, if we succeed but I die again, you’ll be waiting for me?”_

_“Yes, always.”  Death gave him a final squeeze before releasing him.  “Okay, ready to go?”_

_“No, not really, but let's go.”  Jason followed as Death led him away.  Even though he knew the Dreaming would still be here for him the next time he was asleep, things would never be the same after this.   At the very least though, he knew there was one thing he could always count on -- that one thing would never change -- Death would always welcome him with open arms at the end._

 

~~~~~ Bruce, in the present ~~~~~  

 

“You are the Black Pearl itself?” Essence seemed disbelieving.  “For a dreamstone to be sentient, I have never heard of such a thing.”

The entity -- the enormous coyote -- merely grinned, before it leaned down again and began to shrink.  In a matter of seconds, the Robin-Jason was standing before them again.

“Why not?”  The boy… no, the _dreamstone_ \-- he called himself the _Eye_ of the Black Pearl -- he shrugged and smiled as he spoke.  “I was given form and thought, so I could help the Brother Wolf create stories.  You can't tell stories without interesting characters, so he made me.”

“Hnnn,” Bruce assented.  It could be true, he supposed, and that would explain the shapeshifting nature of the creature.  It wasn’t just taking on Jason’s form though, it was perfectly mimicking Jason’s unique mannerisms, his inflection of speech, his attitude and bravado… it was more than shapeshifting, it was an all-encompassing act.  The fact that it had chosen Jason’s child-form was disturbing as well.

“That form.  Why are you using that form?”  Bruce growled.  “You said your true form was that of a coyote.”

“Are you kidding?  Being a coyote is cool, but it has its limitations. Have you ever tried to use your _mouth_ as an all-purpose tool?  I'm telling you now, it's not very effective,” the boy laughed.  “Besides, the coyote was my _first_ form out of many.  The Brother Wolf used to just call me the _Eye_ to make it simple.  I don't have a _true_ form, other than the Black Pearl.  And I like this.  I like having hands, and this kid Jason, he’s freaking _awesome_!”

It was almost painful to watch, because this replica of Jason was too close Bruce’s memories.  “How are you doing this?  Your act is too perfect.  Are you reading my mind?”

“I dunno,” Eye-Jason waved a hand in the air, clearly uninterested in explaining.  “I don't really think about it.  I just know enough to _be_.  Besides, what kind of trickster would I be if I couldn't do a true mimicry?”

That was unexpected.  It seemed it wasn't so much an act, but more like the creature unconsciously subsumed the characteristics of its subject.  Still, that didn't explain why the Eye had chosen Jason in particular.  It likely knew more than it was letting on.

“But why choose _Jason_?”  Bruce returned to his line of questioning.  “What do you know about him?”

“I already told you, I've been watching you try to protect him.  You're hiding him.  Keeping him like some kind of big secret.  I just want to see what all the fuss is about.”  He rolled his eyes flippantly.  Sarcastically.  The same way Jason would have done when he tried to mask nervousness with feigned indifference.   “Brother Wolf always said there was a story behind every secret.  I just want to see.”

“Who is this Brother Wolf you speak of?”  Essence finally spoke up.  She had been observing quietly, no doubt gauging the nature of the creature before interacting.  “I sense what you speak is true, that you are a creation of the Dreaming, but yet you say it was this Wolf that brought you forth.”

“Yes,” the Eye-Jason nodded.  “Brother Wolf was the one who gave me consciousness and form.  He's the one who made me what I am.  He was a god, but I… he died.”

“Even so, if you are what you say, and you are the Eye of the Black Pearl,” Essence continued, “then the Lord Dreaming is your true creator.  Call him.  He will end this farce.”

“Don't you think I’ve already tried that?  He doesn't hear me.  He won't come.”  The Eye-Jason shook his head sullenly.  He still had the domino mask off, and Bruce could see a pain and desperation in his blue eyes.  “They trapped me, those skinwalkers. They cut me off. I'm no longer connected to the true Dreaming.”

Bruce noted the increasing nervousness of the Eye-Jason.  He seemed to have unconsciously adopted Jason's tells as well -- the clenched jaw, the balled fists, eyes darting toward the nearest escape route -- Bruce knew he was withholding something.  “You're afraid of them.  Why?  It's not just them siphoning power is It?  How did they trap you here?”

The Eye didn't answer at first.  He had an eerie faraway look in his eyes -- the same look Bruce had seen in the _real_ Jason when he went catatonic.  Even though he knew it wasn't really his son, he felt a sudden pang of desperate worry.  This creature that looked every bit like a young Jason Todd was eliciting feelings of protectiveness from him.  

Bruce found himself kneeling down to put his hands on the boy’s shoulders.  “Jason…,” he found himself saying out of sheer reflex.

The creature merely looked away and shuddered.  When he finally spoke, it was in a deeper voice.  The voice of the coyote.   “They used the blood machine…. They want to use it again, and now they've gone to….”   He paused with his eyes closed, his brows furrowed like he was thinking.

“What is it?”  Bruce asked, but the Eye-Jason held up a hand, as if asking him to wait.  Bruce looked at Essence, but it seemed she didn't know what to make of it either.

After another long moment, Eye-Jason opened his eyes and sprang to alert.  “We’ve got to go!”  He was back to being a perfect copy of the young Jason again.  He started for the door, but Bruce grabbed his arm.

“Why?”  Bruce asked.  “Is it the skinwalkers?  They’ve found us?”

“No.  Not us. They caught some of your uh… I think you call them birds?”  The Eye-Jason blurted out.  “They’ll feed them to the blood machine.  We have to find them first.”  

“Who?”  He had already surmised that the Eye had meant his children.  His _Robins_.  He didn’t want any of them trapped here, but he hoped to god it wasn't Jason.  That could mean he was possessed or magically bound, just like this creature before them.  “Is it him?  The boy whose form you've taken?”

“No.  Not Jason.  He’s on the way.  It's your other ones….”  The Eye-Jason touched his temple, as if thinking, before looking back at Bruce with a puzzled look. “Oh jeez, you call him _Dickface_?  And that other one you replaced Jason with, some kind of _Birdbrain_?”

“That's not what --,” Bruce cut himself off.   The Eye-Jason must have meant Dick and Tim.  He was somehow picking the information up directly from Jason, and the implications of that left his heart gripped in fear.  He needed to redirect his attention to the matter at hand however, and not the allow the trivial details the creature was picking up on distract him.  He also needed to cut through the feeling of tiredness and exhaustion that was creeping about the edges of his consciousness.  Whatever magic that was affecting him, it was making him less able to laser in on the details he needed to.  It was making him more emotional and reactive, and perhaps even more susceptible to the creature's manipulations.  

Thankfully, Essence was not nearly as emotionally thrown by the child-form of Jason.  She shot forward and grabbed him by the tunic, spinning him around to face her.

“How do you know this?”  Her voice was hard and threatening.  “Did you lure Jason here?  Is that why you took his brothers?”

“What? No!”  He shook his head and pushed at Essence’s grip.  “I've been talking to him.”

The Eye had been talking to Jason? Bruce had already been on edge, but this development had his emotions blasting into the highest levels of protectiveness.  

“When?” He growled.  “What have you done to Jason?”

“I didn’t do anything!”  The Eye-Jason scowled in affront.  “You know what?  Fuck you guys!”  He suddenly kicked out, and Essence was forced to let go.  He squirmed away, but Bruce was already diving after him.  He snagged the Eye-Jason’s cape, but then _another_ presence suddenly appeared with a sword, slashing through the cape and freeing the boy.  Bruce turned to confront the second presence, only to find it was.... yet _another_ Jason.

This one was older, slightly more filled out,  his hair was longer, and there was something harder and more cruel in his eyes.  He was dressed in an array of gray cloth, and he was holding two flaming blades in his hands -- the All-Blades.  He wasn't quite as mature as the real Jason, and Bruce realized he was likely looking at another incarnation of the dreamstone, this one based not on Bruce’s mental image of his son, but rather _Essence’s_.  Judging by the look on her face, he was right.

Essence had backed away slightly, her whole body corded in tension, her fists balled tight at her sides.  The expression on her face was that of fury.  “You dare breach my mind!”

The second Jason smirked in response, cocked his hip in a manner that was slightly suggestive.  “What's the matter?  I thought you _liked_ what you see?”

Before Bruce could react, Essence slapped him so hard he spun and went down with the blow.

“You make a mockery of our memories!”  Essence pulled a hand back, attempting to gather a bolt of her dark magic, but she suddenly collapsed to her knees in pain.

The second Jason had picked himself up quickly, blood smeared across his face.  He approached again, but his stance was relaxed this time, the blades gone.  He offered a hand out to help Essence up, and this time his voice was softer, almost regretful.   “They're already draining you aren't they?  This place… this entire land is corrupted.  The blood machine is rooted in the earth, and once they spill your blood here, you're trapped.”

Essence hesitated, but took his hand and pulled herself up. She still seemed unsteady, and Bruce wasn't sure if it was from her powers being drained, or if she was feeling the same emotional upheaval that he was at seeing a younger visage of Jason.  

“Then why?”  She was normally cold and closed off, but now her face was contorted in anguish.  “Why would you bring Jason here?  If you tell the truth, that you are trapped, why would you suffer another soul your same fate?”

The older form of Jason reached a hand out and caressed her cheek, and his personification must have been disarming enough that she allowed the intimate contact.  

“Because he wants to save you,” he said tenderly,  “and I think he can.  There's something about him… the skinwalkers want whatever is his power, but at the same time they're afraid of what he can do.”

There was blood still dripping down his nose, and now it started running down from his eyes.  In the next moment, he suddenly doubled over, spitting blood.  

Essence gripped his arm, trying to keep him upright.  “What is happening?”  Her voice was laced with concern, no doubt she was having trouble disassociating this copy of Jason from her true memories of him.

“I can barely maintain more than two forms,” he said through clenched teeth.  “If you stay here much longer, Essence, they’ll drain you dry before putting what's left of you into the machine.  And Bruce, they’ll use the blood of you and your family as fuel.”

With that, the second form of Jason collapsed and fell.  Bruce rushed over, still unable to emotionally separate that this wasn't the real Jason.  He crouched down and lifted the limp form in his arms, but he was already lifeless.  Blood poured from his eyes and mouth, before his body began to dissolve into earth.  Beside him, Essence had frozen, a look of horror spread across her features.

Bruce felt similarly appalled.  Even if it wasn't real, watching a form of Jason crumble away in his arms felt… devastating.  It was too much and it was throwing him off-kilter and affecting his judgement.  He turned back to the Robin-form of Jason, who had been standing by silently, watching.  

“What just happened?” Bruce demanded.

“I couldn't maintain him,” the boy said in a defeated voice.  His eyes were red and watery like he was about to cry, and that in itself evoked a reaction from Bruce as well.  It took a conscious act of restraint for him not to reach a hand out in consolement.  “I'm getting weaker.  I told you, I talked to Jason, and I’ve been searching for your other kids.  It’s taken too much out of me to be in so many places at once.”

“You can split your consciousness across forms?”

“To an extent.  What you're seeing is just a projection.  I’m the _Eye_.  The real me is the Black Pearl, the physical dreamstone still trapped in an altar in this basin.”  

“That’s why you need him.”  It was becoming increasingly clear what the Eye wanted.  It wasn't helping them out of the goodness of its heart. Bruce pointed an accusing finger at him as he spoke next.  “You want Jason to come here so he can free you.  You want to use him!”

The Eye scowled.  “Hey, let's not forget _you_ were the one who came looking for _me_.  You were the one who woke me up, and you were the one who got _yourself_ trapped here, and if we don't hurry, your other birds are going to be trapped here too.  Why _wouldn't_ I want Jason to free me?  I can't do it myself, and I can’t free any of you, but Jason _can_.  It's what the skinwalkers are afraid of.  He can blow this whole place to kingdom come, can’t he?”

Bruce wasn't so sure about that.  He really didn't know what Jason could do.  He had demonstrated enormous power under mind control and duress, but Jason himself barely understood the nature and scope of his powers when he had his normal faculties.  Plus Jason wasn't _well_.  Mentally, he was extremely brittle.  He had been through horrific trauma, and putting him in a situation where he was confronting the darkest of magic could shatter him completely.

“You don't understand what you've done,” Bruce retorted.  “He's not what you think.”

The Eye only stared back, challenging blue eyes that reflected the same fierce defiance Bruce had seen in Jason.  “He is,” he simply stated.

“Even if he is, what if they trap him here too?  What then?”  Essence had recovered her composure, and was now doubling Bruce’s dark gaze at the Eye.

He didn't reply to that, but the determination in his eyes wavered and he looked away to stare at the ground. There was another few beats of pregnant silence, and when he spoke it was only to bring up the urgency of his original subject.  “I’ve found them.  Dick and Tim.  If you want to save them, come with me.”

He turned away and beckoned them to follow.  Neither Bruce nor Essence argued as the Eye led them away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \-- On Jason and Death - I’ve always thought, that as someone who died and was resurrected, Jason would have a really good reason to see killing very differently. He knows, by the very fact that he's alive, that dying isn’t the most horrible thing that can happen to someone. Bruce has a very material world view - life is sacrosanct and death is the ultimate end. For Jason, it's not the ultimate sin and end that Bruce thinks it is. He believes that less material things like the concept of betrayal and being abandoned are much more damaging to the soul and psyche. He knows because it happened to him first hand.  
> \-- Edit: got some very thoughtful comments last time! Thanks for those! Any comments (and kudos) are SUPER appreciated ;)


	11. Chapter 11

~~~~~ Bruce ~~~~~  

They followed the Eye out of the room and down an impossibly long hallway -- _literally_ impossible -- Bruce had made note of the dimensions of the building and it's possible exit points as soon as he had seen the Robin-form of Jason dart into it.  The hallway they were in now exceeded the dimensions of the building at least threefold, and with the fourth and fifth turn of a corner leading them into yet another completely _different_ corridor, it was clear that they were in a space that defied the normal laws of physics.  

The halls were lined with a series of closed doors, which the Eye ignored as he ran past, until they reached a dead-end.  There was a rectangular panel in the ceiling, with a latch that was slightly too high for the Eye to reach.  He was undeterred however, pausing only briefly to gauge the angle of his launch before he sprang and backflipped against the wall.  He grabbed onto the latch on the panel as he reached the vertex of his arc mid-air, pulling down what turned out to be an attic ladder as he landed.

Bruce watched him in action, his throat tight and  a pit forming in his gut.  He remembered Jason practicing a similar move when he had been Robin.  It was a move that he had tried hard to perfectly emulate Dick, and while he never quite succeeded in achieving the same level of grace, he had nevertheless mastered it in all it's practicality by the time he had died.  Once again, Bruce forced himself to suppress his wandering memories.  The Eye was already moving in front of the ladder.

“This way,” the Eye said in a hushed voice as he ascended, “but keep to the ground when we reach the surface.”

Bruce followed next, and found that rather than the inside of an attic, the ladder led back outside to the nighttime landscape of the Uintah Basin.  The moon was full and bright, and Bruce could see even without the night vision of his cowl lenses kicking in.  They were at ground level, the mountains and cliffs of the basin rim surrounding them in the distance, and they were partially concealed behind a crop of large boulders several hundred feet away from a dilapidated-looking ranch.  It consisted of a small house, lights inside lit low, and a crumbling barnhouse and fenced corral not more than several yards away.

Bruce huddled close to the ground, Essence following suit beside him, as the Eye peered around the boulder at the house.  He switched on his thermal sensors and detected large hulking masses of heat, probably the skinwalkers, within both structures, but it was the two slightly smaller heat signatures that he focused on.  Dick and Tim most likely, and it looked like the smaller of the two, Tim, was sitting up and alert.  Dick was unmoving.

“The meat-heads inside the house and barn are dumb as fuck,” the Eye broke the silence with his low whisper.  “They’re so bad at shifting it affects their cognitive abilities, so they’re waiting for the elder witches to come back from trying to catch the two of you.  What they don't know is that the elders are still trapped in that rock dome they tried to corner you in before I got you out.  They’ll escape pretty soon, but it gives us long enough to keep your birds from getting hexed and trapped here too.  We just have to get them out now.”

“Hnn.”  Bruce grunted his acknowledgement and assessed the situation.  Even with the added intel, there were still at least ten skinwalkers in both the house and the barn.  Essence was already being drained of her powers, and Bruce could already feel a heaviness in his limbs.  He was definitely being drained, perhaps not in the same way as Essence, given his lack of powers, but it still translated to slower reaction times and a compromised ability to fight.  

They wouldn't be able to take the skinwalkers head on and fight their way in and out quickly. They had to be smart about this if they were going to get his sons out alive.  They would need some sort of diversion.  He glanced over at the Eye, still in the Robin form of Jason, and saw him smiling cheekily, the whites of his teeth reflecting like a cheshire grin in the moonlight.

“You have a plan,” Bruce stated.

“Yeah, I do,” the Eye replied, “but we need to make this quick because I don't have enough power to make this last.”

With that, another set of forms began coalescing in the darkness beside them.  Shadows surged upward silently from the sandy dirt and grew and separated into four masses.  The forms undulated and pulsed a few seconds until they solidified into a perfect replica of Batman and Essence, along with two hulking brown-furred copies of the skinwalkers.

“Your copies will draw them out,” the Eye hissed through clenched teeth, as if straining, “and my two dog dummies will pretend to stay back and watch the birds.  That’s when you two slip in and get them out.”

“And you?”  Essence was scowling, clearly not liking the plan.  “Where will you be in all this?”

“I’m... checking out.  I need to… _unform_ while I do this or I’ll be spread too thin.”  The Eye was stuttering under the strain, shaking, blood leaking from it's eyes.  “Wait ‘til they draw out whoever's inside, grab the birds, and then go back down the ladder we came from.”

The other Eye-forms sprang forward, and Bruce watched as the copies of himself and Essence veered off toward the distance while the two skinwalker copies pounded on the door of the barn.  They screeched something guttural that Bruce wasn't able to understand, but it seemed to work as the skinwalkers in the barn rushed out toward where the copy-Batman and Essence were running away.  Mayhem ensued.  More skinwalkers poured out of the ranch house and scrambled away as the copies barked out some kind of order.  This was their chance.

Bruce nodded at Essence to go, ignoring the already bloody and unmoving corpse of the Robin-form as they made a beeline for the barn.  They slipped in through the open doors to see one of the skinwalker copies already slinging an unconscious Dick over it's shoulder.  He felt a pang of worry as he noted his eldest was limp and unresponsive, dressed in what looked like sleepwear.  The other skinwalker was making an attempt to do the same with Tim, but he was fighting back, dressed in his Red Robin gear and kicking out at the same time he was unworking the chains binding his arms.

“Red Robin, stand down,” Bruce commanded and Tim immediately stilled.

“Batman? How did you find us?”  Tim had a surprised look on his face, but he was still skeptical.  Good.  He was keeping to his training, but Bruce also needed Tim to cooperate, and the best way to ensure that was to make sure he was unrestrained.  

“We had help,” Bruce replied as he pulled a small laser from his belt to cut through Tim’s chains, and then nudged him forward.  “Can you run?”

“Yes.”  Tim couldn't have missed the note of urgency, but he was still suspicious, eyeing the skinwalker holding Dick.  It made Bruce uneasy too, but the Eye had been mostly up front with them so far.  It had crossed his mind that the Tim and Dick in front of him could have been copies as well, but his gut told him that wasn't the case.  Time would tell if it was true that the Eye couldn't hold multiple forms for long -- the facade of an elaborate trick wouldn’t last long.

They sprinted out of the barn, ducking back toward the crop of boulders from where they had come.  There were shrieks and animalistic howls in the distance, no doubt the other skinwalkers had discovered their ruse and were already making their way back.  Judging by the amount of time that had passed, the copies of himself and Essence were probably crumbling, and the skinwalker copies with them would soon follow. True enough to Bruce’s prediction, the copy that was holding Dick stumbled and dropped to it's knees.  The second copy immediately came up behind and took over, slinging Dick onto it's back and continuing to run.

“Wait, we can't--.”  Tim turned back to help the copy they were leaving behind, but Bruce caught his arm and kept them running.

“Leave it.  I'll explain later.”

Tim complied, and they made the rest of the way to the boulders unhindered.  Once there, Bruce pushed Tim toward the opening in the ground with the ladder, but Tim jerked away.  Something had caught his eye.

“Oh god!  Is that Robin?”  There was a horrified look on Tim’s face, and Bruce followed the line of his stare to see he was looking at the crumbled body of the Robin-form of the Eye.  It had turned to bloody clay, but the costume was mostly intact -- the red tunic with the large “R" was clearly visible.

“No,” Bruce said through clenched teeth, feeling an unexpected sorrow rush through him as well.  “That’s _not_ Robin.”  He shoved Tim toward the ladder again, and this time he didn't protest as he disappeared into the rectangular opening.

Essence sidled up alongside him next as they both took Dick’s limp form from the skinwalker copy.  The howls and yips in the distance were coming closer, but it was going to be difficult maneuvering Dick down the ladder quickly.  Bruce was about to ask if Essence had any power left to levitate them, when the skinwalker copy suddenly shoved the three of them forward.  They fell through the opening in a jumbled heap, Bruce barely able to twist himself as he fell to break Dick’s fall.  He landed hard on his shoulder, Dick’s unconscious body crashing down onto his chest and knocking the wind out of him.  Essence somehow managed to land not much less gracelessly beside him.

“Batman!”  Tim was beside him, hauling Dick’s limp form to lie beside him and checking his vitals, glancing back and forth between them.  “Dick’s still out, but pulse is steady.  B, are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” he groaned, his limbs felt heavy as he sat up.  Now that the immediate danger had passed, he noted that there was growing lethargy permeating his body, from the blood hex that drained him, but he pushed through it.  He needed to make sure that his boys were safe.

He managed to stand, fighting an onset of nausea, and quickly assessed their surroundings.  They were back in the long hall the Eye-Jason had taken them through, inside the strange Gotham City illusion within the basin somewhere, but the attic panel in the ceiling had disappeared.   The skinwalker copy had been left behind, nowhere to be seen.  Whatever avenue the Eye had used to transport them was now apparently closed, and they were safe for the time being.  He crouched next to Dick as Tim continued to check him over.  “Why is he unconscious?  What happened?”

“All I know is Jason said he wouldn’t wake up.  Have you seen Jason?  I lost track of him.  Those werewolf things grabbed me and Dick when we were trying to get back to the cave, but I don't know what happened after that.”

“Jason’s not here.”  Bruce kept it short, but Tim was looking at him quizzically.  In that way of his that indicated he knew something was up, and he was already dissecting the various possibilities of what was really meant.

“Jason is coming,” Essence informed from beside him.  “And he will be walking into a trap.”

“What the hell is going on?”  It wasn't exactly an accusation, but Bruce could hear it in Tim's voice -- he knew Bruce wasn’t telling him something.  

Tim was looking between him and Essence, expecting an answer, but before Bruce could reply, a door opened and a voice called out from the otherwise empty hall.  “Batman!  Bring Dick over here!”

He recognized the voice of the Eye-Jason -- reformed apparently after the others had crumbled.  Bruce crouched to lift Dick into his arms, and proceeded down the hall through the open door.  He pushed into the room where the Eye was waiting, and he laid Dick down upon a mattress on the floor.

“What the--, _Jason_?  Is that you?”  Tim had followed into the room, and was now staring incredulously at the Eye, who was dressed as Robin again.  He was unmasked, bright blue eyes shining in the moonlight, his mouth turned upward in a crooked and mischievous smile.

“That’s _not_ Jason.”  Bruce put a hand out to stop Tim from approaching.  “I’ll explain later.  For now, keep your distance.”  Tim furrowed his brow, clearly not satisfied with Bruce’s command, but he stayed back.

Bruce turned back to the Eye and indicated toward Dick, “What’s wrong with him?  Can you wake him?”

The Eye smiled and nodded, and then moved to sit beside Dick on the bare mattress.  He didn't move for a long moment, just sat still and stared down at Dick’s prone form.

“What's he doing?”  Tim started, but the Eye shushed him.

“Shh.  All you ever do is ask questions.  No wonder he calls you birdbrain.  Let me concentrate,” he said.  “I'm already _inside_ \-- have been since I picked him up at the barn, but I can't see clearly enough.  It’s some kind of _dream snare_.  It's tricking him into staying asleep.”  

He leaned in and looked closely at Dick’s face.  “Wow,” he drawled, “I get what all the fuss is about now.”   Then, before Bruce could stop him, he took Dick’s face in his hands and kissed him.

“Hey!”  Tim shouted and Bruce lunged forward to yank the Eye away, grabbing him by the shoulder before shoving him back and pinning him against the wall.

“Do. Not. Touch. Him!”  Bruce growled.

The Eye-Jason chuckled, unperturbed by Bruce’s threat.  “Haven’t you guys ever heard of sleeping beauty?  I thought you wanted me to wake him up?  Look,” he pointed back at Dick, and sure enough, he was rousing… groaning and blinking his eyes as he turned over onto his side.

Tim rushed over, “Dick, can you hear me?  Dick?”

“Ugh.  Why do I feel like I have a massive hangover?”  Dick managed to roll into a sitting position and looked around the room.  He froze, eyes wide, as soon as he caught sight of the Eye-Jason.  “Jay?”

“Dick!”  The Eye squirmed in Bruce’s grasp, but not hard enough to actually escape.  The effect however, was that Dick was immediately alert.  He shot up from the mattress and bolted over to pull at Bruce’s grip.

“Bruce, what gives?  Let him go!  What the hell happened to him?”  Dick tugged at his arm.  “How’d Jay get so… uh... _young_?”

“Stop,” Bruce held fast to the Eye-Jason with one hand and pushed Dick away with the other.  “This _thing_ isn’t Jason.”

“What do you mean? What the hell is going on?”  Dick exclaimed.

“That’s exactly what I’ve been asking,” Tim followed on.  “Batman, we need to know what we’re dealing with.  I can tell we’re not actually in Gotham.  My comms and wristlet are malfunctioning, and those wolf-men took my weapons.  What are we up against?”

Bruce let out a tired breath and pushed the Eye-Jason down to sit in a chair that happened to be in the room.  “Don’t move,” he barked, keeping a hand on the boy’s shoulder.   He was feeling weary all of a sudden, but he didn’t want to take his eye off the creature lest he try to move toward one of his sons.

He needed to explain the gravity of the situation however.  He needed to send Dick and Tim to safety and warn Jason away as soon as possible.

“We've been investigating anomalous energy fluctuations that we narrowed to this location near the edge of the Utah border.  A place called the Uintah Basin.  After we arrived, we were attacked by those shapeshifters, called skinwalkers.  They’ve managed to use some kind of blood magic that prevents Essence and I from leaving.  It drains us, eventually killing us.  This creature,” Bruce gestured toward the Eye, “found us and took on Jason’s form.  It calls itself the Eye.”

He was intentionally vague when it came to the reason they had come to the basin in the first place however.  He didn't want to fully divulge their mission from the Dream Lord in front of the Eye.  He didn't trust it, and he was sure it was not as innocuous as it claimed to be.  The Eye was likely trapped here for a good reason, and there was an undercurrent of fear in it that suggested there was much more to its story than it was letting on.  His sons were keenly aware of the deliberate omission however.

“You must have been collecting data for weeks in order to triangulate this location,” Tim deduced.  He was already analyzing Bruce’s words -- breaking down his story into logical sequences.  “You were looking for this thing for how long, and you didn't tell us?”

“I'll explain later,” Bruce clipped, and Tim seemed to get the hint that now was not the time to discuss that particular detail.  He turned a discerning gaze at the Eye, who had huddled into himself on the floor with his arms hugging his knees -- it made him look young and vulnerable, and Bruce had no doubt it's portrayal was intentional.  

Tim shook his head, as if dislodging a thought stuck in his mind, and turned back to Bruce, “Fine, but what now?  My systems are still malfunctioning.  I can't even pinpoint our location, but if you're somehow magically bound as you say, we need to figure out how to get out of here.”  

“The world is _thin_ here,” the Eye interjected.  “The line between dreaming and reality is blurred.  Even if you haven't been blood-hexed, it's going to be hard to get you out.”  He made to stand, but Bruce put a hand back on his shoulder, keeping him seated.

“What does that mean?”  Dick took a step forward this time.

“I can explain, but jeez would someone get B to let up a little?  I'm not doing anything!”  The Eye was pushing at Bruce’s grip on his shoulder, but he wasn't fighting hard enough for it to be a true effort to escape.  Bruce surmised it was likely pushing back for show, trying to get sympathy.  

“Please?”  The Eye turned its attention to Dick this time.  “Come on Dickie, can you get him to back off?”  It reached out for Dick at the same time, and Dick instinctively responded by stepping forward again.

Bruce immediately blocked his path with his body, angling the Eye out of reach.  “Don’t listen to him.  He’s playing into your emotional vulnerabilities.”

“He is a creature of deceit,” Essence added.  “Do not let down your guard.”  She had been mostly quiet since the Eye had pulled the older Jason from her memories, likely to avoid attracting it's attention again, but she stepped forward to aid Bruce now that it was actively targeting Dick.

“He’s an entity of the Dream Lord,” Bruce explained, “but he’s disconnected.  Trapped.  He helped you two escape, but he also lured Jason into coming here.  He wants to use him to get free.”

“That's not the only reason,” the Eye pouted.  “I wanted Jason to come help me, but he's powerful enough to stop the bloodletting that's been going on here for eons.  He can make things _right_ here.  He can _unmake_ the blood machine.”

The Eye renewed his squirming, reaching out for Dick again. “And I’m sorry about the kiss.  It was dumb, but I just wanted to _see_ him.”

“What kiss?”  Dick looked puzzled.

“And it worked didn't it?”  The Eye rambled on, jittery and apologetic.  “I broke you out of the _dream snare_ by triggering your memories of Jason. And I just wanted to _see_ ….  I wasn't trying to hurt anyone.”

“Did Jason kiss me when I was asleep?”  Dick looked back at Bruce.

“He’s _not_ Jason,” Bruce repeated.

“I’m sorry,” the Eye kept talking.  “I wanted to know why you’re all trying to hide him so hard.  If I touch you, it lets me look closer….”

“Bruce, let him go.”  Dick placed a hand on  Bruce’s grip on the Eye.  “Let me talk to him.”

“He’s reading you.  Don't be fooled by his appearance,” Bruce was reluctant to let Dick approach.  His eldest was far too trusting, but he recognized that stubborn set in his jaw that meant Dick would stand his ground.

“I know he's not Jason.  Trust me.”

Bruce relented and released his grip.  He watched tensely as Dick approached and knelt in front of the Eye, looking at him with a neutral expression.

“You said that you touched me so that you could see,” Dick spoke calmly.  “You’re trying to see more about Jason?”

The Eye nodded.

“You wanted to know why we’re hiding him?  But you already know he has power, and those wolf-men want to take it.  So what did you really want to see?”  Dick reached out and took the Eye-Jason’s hand.  He was wearing gauntlets as part of his Robin costume, and Dick removed them so that their hands were touching skin to skin.

“Dick, don't --.”  Bruce tried to intercede, but Dick shook his head and shot him a stern look before proceeding.

“So tell me, what did you see when you touched me?  What are you seeing now?”  Dick raised the Eye’s hand, and brought it open palm against his cheek so that the Eye was cupping his face.  

The Eye blinked at him a moment, puzzlement on his boyish features, but then his eyes began to glow.  Bruce forced himself to stand still and watch, ready to grab Dick should the Eye attempt anything.  He stood close enough to observe that the flare of light traced around a symbol embedded in both the Eye’s irises -- the sigil of the Black Pearl.

“I think I remember being stuck in some kind of dream.”  Dick was talking softly as he continued to clasp the Eye’s hand against his cheek.  “I kept waking up, but I was actually still asleep every time.  And then Jason suddenly appeared and interrupted with… a kiss.  That was actually you wasn't it?  You were looking into me, but somehow I could see into you too.  You wanted to know what Jason is to me.  Did you see what you want to see?”

The Eye nodded and pulled his hand away.  The light in his eyes subsided, and they were back to the perfect mimicry of Jason’s teal blue.  However, his eyes were wet now, streaks of tears ran down his face despite his trying to wipe them away.

Dick still knelt in front of him, his own eyes reflecting concern.  “Tell me what you saw.”

“I saw Jason.  The way you see him,” the Eye sobbed, “and he… he isn't _whole_ .  You don't know why this is happening, but you love him so much.  That's why you're hiding him... and it _hurts_ that you can't stop him from falling apart.”

“Yeah.  That's right,” Dick nodded, and pulled the Eye into an embrace.  “You're not Jason, but somehow you _are_ when you take on his form, am I right?  You’re reflecting how we see Jason back at us, and deep down, we all know Jason wants to help.  I felt that in you, when you pulled me out of that dream trap, and I know you're embracing that part of him.”

“So you believe me?”

Dick released the Eye and stood, “Yes.  I believe you didn't intentionally mean us harm, but if you brought Jason here, he's going to be in trouble.”

“You act like you know he's going to fail.  Like he can't stop the blood machine,” the Eye countered.  “But I _know_ he can.  The skinwalkers are afraid of him, and they've never been afraid of _anything_ before.  He can save us!”

“Or he will become trapped here,” Essence’s tone was scathing, “Like me.  Like Batman.  They'll tear all of us apart, drain away our power and our lives.”

“No!  That won't happen!”

“Then show us how to get out,” Dick grabbed the Eye by the shoulders, looking at him seriously.  “Get us out of here so we can warn Jason.”

“I… I can't,” the Eye shook its head, eyes tearing up.  “I don't know _how_.”

“Try,” Dick demanded.

“Okay... I’ll do what I can,” the Eye nodded.  “Come on.”  

He pulled away from Dick, much to Bruce’s relief,  and moved back out into the hall.  They followed,  making their way through more narrow corridors, passing open doors that showed more dilapidated rooms, empty save for discarded furniture and refuse.

“If we stay inside this construct of Gotham, the skinwalkers will have a harder time finding us.  I'll try to make a path back close to your jet, but it's outside of my range to fully get there,” the Eye explained.

~~~~~~

Bruce followed closely for what felt like an inordinately long time to be meandering inside a building, but each turn brought yet another long hallway that left him feeling strangely light headed.  He pushed through it, but his step began to falter, until he couldn't help but visibly stumble as they turned another corner.

“Batman, what's wrong?”  Dick put an arm out beside him.

“His life force is slowly draining,” Essence trailed behind them, looking uncharacteristically strained herself.  “As is mine.  We cannot continue much longer like this.”

“The landscape hasn't changed,” Tim was looking out a window from one of the empty rooms.  “And this hallway has the same water damage as the one we were in twenty minutes ago.  Are we going in circles?”  

“Fuck!  Why didn’t I see it sooner?  It's _them_.”  The Eye ran a frustrated hand through his hair.  “It’s one of the ways they’ve used my power against me.  We’re on an endless path -- they’ve distorted the land into a loop.  It won’t matter which way we go, we’ll be stuck going in circles until they find us.”

“But you've gotten out before?”  Bruce queried, feeling breathless and dizzy as he leaned against a wall.

“Yes, by _unforming_ , but you guys can't do that.”

“So what now?  Can we go out a window maybe?”  Dick had joined Tim to look out at the landscape of the basin.

“That might be what they're waiting for -- they're trying to force us out of hiding.  Let me think for a minute.”  

“Well think fast,” Tim remarked.  “Something's happening outside.  I think I saw a flash of light on the horizon.  It could have been lightening, but something tells me it was more than that.”

The Eye looked confused as he joined Dick and Tim at the window.  He scanned the horizon, a look of worry on his face.  He put a hand to his temple and closed his eyes, but then snapped them open abruptly.  “What the hell?”

There were sounds slowly percolating around them.  Muffled voices behind closed doors, footsteps, doors opening and closing -- not the kind of sounds you would expect from a group of attacking skinwalkers, but rather the ambient noise of other people in the background.  It was the sound of people living in an apartment building.  The murmur of a TV, the wail of a baby, occasional shouts, laughter, the hum of conversation through the walls.

“Are you doing this?”  Bruce turned to the Eye.  “Are you filling this place with more of your forms?”

“No,” the Eye shook his head.  He looked shocked as he glanced around them.  There were clear signs of life -- signs of people living -- coming now from behind the many closed doors in the hall.  “They’re _dreamforms_.  So many... I haven’t had the power to do this since before I was trapped… but these are memories… but I’m not doing this.  How is this possible?”

“What is it?”  Bruce followed on.

“Who taught him how to affect the Dreaming?  He shouldn’t know how to do this.”

“Is it these skinwalkers?  The elder witches?  Are they doing this to confuse us?”

“No.  It's not them.  I think we’re too late.”  The Eye choked out as he looked back at Bruce in anguish.  “He's here, and he did something.  I don’t think he can control it.  He’s somehow causing this _bleed_.”

“Who?”  Bruce asked again, but he already knew the answer.

The Eye shook his head, his expression pained and disbelieving at the same time.  “It's not the skinwalkers who are doing this.  It's _Jason_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you guys see the announcement? There's going to be new books published on the Sandman universe. Woohoo! Though I guess that means this fic will likely fall out of continuity faster than it already is. But whateva. A snapshot in time amiright?


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to posting a longer chapter…. Sorry. Not sorry? I thought about splitting it but everything kinda goes together....

~~~~~ Jason ~~~~~  

 

He wouldn't ever say it out loud, but Jason had to admit that the little demon brat was damn good at flying.  The plane they were in was using some kind of experimental Wayne Tech propulsion, probably pilfered alien technology of some kind because the controls were nothing like Jason had ever seen, and he had been on his fair share of alien spaceships, mind you.  It was a rather large jet given the speed they were flying -- big enough to ferry the bat family back once they were found. And the pipsqueak wasn't joking when he said he could take it to mach 3, even though his legs barely reached the control pedals and he had strapped some kind of auxiliary seat on top of the built-in cockpit (the equivalent of a bat-booster seat), he was still able to pilot the the thing like a champ.

Jason was grateful for a lot of reasons.  One being that he wasn’t currently the one in the cockpit.  This particular aircraft required some pretty complicated controls using all four limbs, and while Jason could have picked up the controls and managed to fly it, it would have literally been a pain.  One of the werewolves had torn through the meat of his thigh with it's jaws, and several hasty stitches from Alfred along with a couple of painkillers and antibiotics wasn't enough to dampen the throbbing.  

He was _not_ at the top of his game, and he needed to reserve his energy if he was going to fight.  Piloting a jet at thousands of miles an hour through the stratosphere required a level of focus and concentration that would be taxing, and Jason was not in the best mental state either.  In contrast, Damian was annoyingly calm and focused, and Jason didn't protest when the little terror parked himself at the helm.

In truth, he hadn't really wanted to bring Damian along at all.  Jason had already gotten Dick and Tim captured, and adding the youngest Robin into the mix could end up disastrous.  It wasn't like they were close either. He had never developed a connection with him the way Dick had. In fact Jason had nearly killed him in one of his more psychotic fits at one point, but that was _before_.  And now, despite the tension between them, he didn't want to see the kid hurt.  He didn't want to be responsible for getting the kid killed a _second time_ , but short of drugging him or having John use some kind of spell, he knew Damian would find a way to follow.  All the bat kids were stubborn to a fault, and Damian was no exception. If Jason managed to survive this and get the others out alive, Damian would be forever resentful at having been left behind.  And if Jason failed, he would not only blame Jason, but also himself. So in a moment of questionable judgement, Jason tacitly allowed him to take charge of the plane and navigate them to their destination to save their family.

He sat beside John in one of the passenger seats as anxiety, guilt, and concern spiraled through his thoughts.  The werewolves had taken Tim and Dick easily, and had nearly snared him in a blood sigil. He needed some way to fight them more effectively.  He needed some kind of plan.

He turned to John, “Please tell me you've got some kind of trick up your sleeve to fight these things?”

John snorted.  “Trick is not to fight them _at all_.  You don't do all out battle with an army of werewolves with just the three of us.  Normally I’d say we get Zee, but she’s got her hands full keeping the Cold Flame from taking over Nanda Parbat.  Plus I'm no battle mage, you've still got training wheels on, and Disney Junior Bat over there don't even have any magic in him.  Taking them head on is just askin’ ta get clobbered. ‘Specially with blood mages in their ranks.”

“I am more than capable of fighting,” Damian called out from the cockpit.  “I have slain many a demon before.”

“This is different, Damian.”  Jason didn't doubt Damian could take on a mage or demonic entity under certain circumstances.  All the bats could hold their own in most situations when it came to fighting, but magic was the wild card that even Batman was not completely equipped for.  “Those things were invulnerable to conventional weapons. They overwhelmed Tim, and he had the Sword of Destruction. You can't fight them like a normal threat.”

“--Tt--.   _You_ can't fight them,” Damian flung back caustically.  “Look at _you_.  You are injured, your mental state is questionable at best, and you are barely able to control whatever power you wield.   _I_ am not the one who cannot fight.”

“You arrogant little shit!”  Jason’s temper flared. He had no idea how Dick put up with the brat.  “I’m telling you, assuming you can fight them head on is going to get you killed and I'm not going to let that happen!”

“I assume nothing, Todd.  And you do not _let_ me do anything.  You have no authority over me!”

Jason was nearly out of his seat, ready to knock the kid upside the head with his anger and irritation boiling over, when John put a hand on his shoulder to press him back down.

“Christ!  I thought you bat kids were supposed to be smart,”  John grumbled. “Let him fly the bloody plane or we’ll all get killed before we even get there!”

Jason reluctantly settled back into the seat, and even though he couldn't quite see Damian’s face, he could imagine the smug grin on his face just from reading the line of his shoulders.

“So what?”  Jason tried to refocus on what John had said earlier.  “Your plan is we sneak in?”

“I knew you had some brains in you yet,” John gave him a wry grin.

“But what happens if we get caught?”

“I've got a few tricks up my sleeve.”  John was disturbingly blasé. He most certainly had something in mind.

“Care to be more specific?”

“Nah.  Then it wouldn’t be a trick,” John said flippantly.  “Look, I could explain to you the ins-and-outs of spells I have in mind, but we haven't the time, and you wouldn’t get it anyway.  Just follow my lead if everything goes to shite.”

It wasn't exactly a plan, but prying something out of John was nearly impossible and would more than likely piss John off enough to ditch them.  For the moment Jason had to simply trust John’s cunning and rely on his reputation for being the most slippery eel in sticky situations.

By the time they touched down in the ass-crack of nowhere, Jason’s anxiety was at its peak.   Bruce, Dick, and Tim would be at the mercy of the skinwalkers, and from what Jason saw, there wasn’t much mercy to be had.  Plus they had somehow managed to subdue Essence, one of the most powerful beings that Jason knew. He worried for all of them, and the threat of being possessed and overtaken again left him feeling shaken.  He wasn't sure he could channel his mental and emotional energy to focus the way he normally would. Damian was right. His ability to fight was compromised.

The coyote entity had said it would help, but Jason had to also prepare himself for the worst.

Best case scenario was they were magically bound in a way that John could free them, and as they stepped off their plane to evaluate their surroundings, he was less and less sure that they were going to be able to do this surreptitiously without getting caught.  There was something in the air… a dark menacing feeling that felt all too familiar. Like the thick morass of darkness that had invaded him when the gray spider had penetrated his mind….

“Hood, stay focused!”  Damian’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and he looked over to see Damian giving him a hard assessing gaze.  He didn't say anything else, but the brat was still annoyingly calm. _That little turd._

They had followed the location the coyote had left for them, and found it led to Bruce’s cloaked Batwing jet parked at the edge of an area called the Uintah Basin.  Damian scanned the jet briefly and found it was fully functioning, but readings in the nearby vicinity showed strange energy fluctuations. He pulled something out of his toolbelt, a flat disc about the size of a silver dollar, and proceeded to affix it to the hilt of the Sword of Destruction that Jason had handed to him earlier.

“What the hell is that,” Jason queried, “and why are you strapping it to my sword?”

“--Tt--,” Damian turned his nose up in the air.  “It is an electromagnetic amplifier with an Nth metal core of my own design.  It should be able to run the unique properties of Nth metal in a current into this sword.  Theoretically, it should be able to augment the abilities of this or any sword to be more effective against magical and demonic entities.”

“What the fuck? You didn't think to share this with the rest of us?  This could have saved Tim and Dick! This could have saved your dad!”  That was the problem with Damian. His arrogance often kept him secretive.  He wasn't one to share until push came to shove, though coming from Jason it might be a case of the pot calling the kettle black.

“I only just finished it!  I have not had the chance to test it.  This is only a prototype!”

Jason gave an exasperated sigh.  He had to admit (though not aloud) that the idea was brilliant, and if it worked it could give them an edge that Jason and Tim didn't have when he faced them before.

“Fine.  Whatever.  Don’t let go of that sword, whatever you do.  And stay close.”

“--Tt--,” Damian gave his default reply, but he didn’t object.  Behind all his bluster and pomposity, he was a smart kid with his heart in the right place.  He knew they would have to stay together and be strategic, and that he cared deeply for his family.  Well… he cared for Bruce and Dick at least. Jason wasn't sure the kid would go out on a limb for _him_ , but it didn’t matter.  This was about saving the others, not about becoming buddies with the world’s most antagonistic thirteen year old.  

After a few more adjustments to his equipment, Damian spoke again, his voice somehow even more irritating because of the commanding tone.  “You, Constantine,” he jabbed a finger in the air, “take point. Use your magery to determine where we need to go, but keep us covert. I will cover us in the rear.  Red Hood, you are to stay masked, or whatever it is you do with your magic. Do not engage the enemy even if we are attacked. You are to take cover, lending support fire only on my say so.”

Jason’s jaw nearly dropped.  Take cover and lend support fire?  The Red Hood didn’t hide and run away from a battle.  Not unless it was a strategic retreat, and especially not on Damian’s says so.  But it wasn’t like Damian to not use his assets to the utmost effectiveness either.  It was almost like he was trying to guard Jason… and then it clicked.

“Hold on a sec.  You think you’re _protecting me_?”

“Of course.  You have proven yourself incapable of defending yourself adequately,” Damian stated, as if it was the most obvious fact in the world.

“Fuck no.  This is bullshit!”

Damian tutted once more, and then, “You have just demonstrated your lack of strategic sense.  What alternative would you propose? That you take point, and immediately become incapacitated and captured?  That you take the rear and allow us to be ambushed? You are the most vulnerable and weakest link. One mistake, and should you become possessed, we are _all_ lost.”

“The most vulnerable --?  Fuck you, you little shit!  I am not _weak_.”

“I did not say you are weak.  The power you wield is extremely dangerous, but you are _uncontrolled_.  And that scoundrel of a man is not to be trusted.”  He pointed at John. “I must keep you both in my sight.  I am only trying to--” Damian cut himself off, suddenly swallowing his words, and appeared uncomfortable.  It was only for a second however, and he schooled his features into a ‘neutral scowl’ before he started again in a quieter voice.  “Father, and Richard… they would want you protected in this situation. I will not see you lost again. It would do this family extreme harm.”

The little demon brat actually seemed sincere.  Concerned even. And though he couched his protectiveness in the context of what Bruce and Dick would want, the way Damian wouldn’t meet his eyes as he said it… it was almost as if the little demon actually cared about _Jason_.

“Okay, fine,” Jason conceded.  Damian’s plan actually made a lot of sense, if Jason didn’t let his ego get in the way.  And though disarmed at the idea of Damian actually caring, Jason couldn’t bring himself to be spiteful about it.  “It’s not a bad plan… I guess. John, go ahead and lead the way.”

John had watched the exchange from the sidelines, somewhat amused at their antics judging by the barely concealed smirk on his face, but he didn’t comment.  He shrugged and then mumbled something under his breath, some kind of spell apparently, before pointing northward. “This way. There’s something pulling magic in that direction.  My guess is that if something has the bats, it’s that way.”

John shrugged his coat a little closer around himself, before uttering another jumble of words.  There was a low glow in the dirt beneath their feet, in the shape of what Jason recognized as the masking sigil.  It faded away quickly, but Jason continued to feel a faint buzz of energy. John had cloaked them somehow.

“Alright kids. We don’t have all day. Let’s get this over with.”  John’s expression was disturbingly vulpine, but Jason nodded and followed in the middle just as Damian had outlined, and the little demon brat took up the rear.

//////////////////////////////

  
The landscape was pretty barren, without much in the way of foliage to take cover, but it was in the middle of the night, and even with the brightness of a full moon there were plenty of shadows behind rocky outcroppings and large boulders that they could keep to.

John led them along the foot of one of the nearby ridges, following it's turns until they came upon an odd rock formation.  It was clearly artificial, created by magic, because the way the columns of rock sprang up into the sky and then arced into a dome was by no means natural.  The earth around it was freshly upturned, the deeper soil brought to the surface was still somewhat moist compared to the hard compacted dirt of the rest of the landscape.

“The skinwalkers laid some kind of trap here,” John assessed.  “There’s something bad about this land, if they can use earth magic like this.”

“The activity indicates a struggle,” Damian was shining a small light inside the rock dome, “but not what would be expected of a full battle.  Father, or even Drake, would have left more signs -- batarangs, residual explosives, but there are none. I smell potassium chlorate however. A smoke bomb was used.”

Jason could smell it too, but that didn’t make sense.  There was only one entrance into the rock dome, and a smoke bomb wouldn’t have been enough for whoever was trapped to get out.  He said as much, and Damian agreed.

“Perhaps your comrade, Essence, was able to get them out.  Let us keep moving. We will follow these tracks.” Damian waved John forward, and they followed the tracks until they led upward onto a plateau that overlooked a small valley.  There was some kind of ranch house in the distance, with a large barn off to the side. There was a lot of activity, groups of skinwalkers were scouting the area, and some of them were digging around a crop of nearby boulders.

“They’re searching for something,” Jason whispered to the others, looking through the zoomed telephoto of his lenses.  “That means someone might have escaped.” He felt relieved. It meant that at least some of his family were alive.

“They found something.”  Damian had a pair of binoculars out, looking at the group of skinwalkers that had been digging.  “That… doesn’t make any sense. They have a Robin costume… but it's old. Grayson’s retired costume perhaps.  Or yours.”

Jason tapped the side of his helmet and zoomed in, and sure enough, one of the skinwalkers was holding an old Robin costume.  It was unmistakable, with the capital R, yellow cape and the green scaly shorts clearly visible. His thoughts echoed Damian’s.  This didn’t make any sense -- no one had ventured out in that costume in years, let alone Dick or Tim, but he couldn’t come up with an explanation of how the costume could have gotten here.

“Bollocks,” John hissed from beside them.  “We’ve got company boys.”

They whirled around, but Jason didn’t immediately see anything.  They were crouched behind some large rocks at the edge of the cliff, and the plateau behind them was largely flat and barren.  Except… there were shadows… moving in a way that they shouldn’t have. Blotches of darkness that slithered and glided across the ground before bulging upward, finally growing into large furry masses with ugly snouts and long teeth.

“Christ those things are ugly,” John seemingly echoed his thoughts.  “They’ve got us surrounded.”

“Red Hood, stay behind us,” Damian actually tried to place himself between the skinwalkers and Jason.  “We must clear a path and retreat!”

Damian slashed with his sword and a bolt went flying, a strange mix of fire and electricity that hit one of the dog-faced monsters square in the chest.  It screeched as it dropped to the ground in flames, sparks of Nth metal energy coursing through its body. Chunks of fur and flesh were blasted away, but even in the few seconds Jason spared to watch, he could see it knitting itself back together.  

Fuck.  The sword was doing a lot more damage, but it still wasn't taking them down permanently.

“Time to bring out your goat, love.”  John nudged him.

“Right,” Jason quickly reached into his jacket and pulled out the medallion.  He focused his thoughts on Lizzy the goat, and a split second later a blur of hooves and horns began barreling into the skinwalkers.  He knew how this would go though. The tulpa wasn't strong enough without more _thought_.  He moved to call her back, placing his stroking her head as he focused some more energy into her, but a second later John slapped his hands away.

“Watch it.  Last time she sucked you dry, and we don’t need to drag your unconscious arse around this shithole.”  John was pulling him back to take cover behind some boulders, but Jason resisted. However, John was probably right about the goat.  He had first hand experience dragging an unconscious Dick around, and _look where that got him_.  Still, he needed to do more than just stand around while Damian and the goat did all the work.

Damian was holding his own, but there were at least a dozen skinwalkers circling.  Lizzy the goat had taken a couple down, but Damian was quickly becoming overwhelmed.  He threw an arc of firebolts, throwing several of them back, but out of the corner of his eye, Jason saw one of them dissipate into shadows only to reappear right beside Damian.

Jason didn’t hesitate, he drew his All-Blades and intercepted.  He blocked a swipe of it's long claws, his blades reverberating with a clang at the impact.  It bore down on him, and Jason adjusted his footing to push back. His injured thigh protested, the stitches tearing, and he realized he had probably reopened his wounds.  The creature noticed. It twisted, brought it's other clawed hand around to slash at his thigh, ripping through the fabric of his armour and tearing a new gash.

“Argh!” He let out an involuntary cry, and then mustered up his focus through the pain.  He cleared his mind, accepted the darkness, embraced the light, and then gave a final shove with his blades, twirling to strike at it's chest with the purification.  A blinding flash and a shriek, and a shriveled corpse fell backward where the skinwalker once stood.

Jason collapsed onto his knees.  His leg was bleeding again, rivulets of blood dripping into the earth.

“You fool!” Damian cursed.  “I told you to take cover!”

“You’re welcome,” Jason snapped back.  

Damian didn’t reply, instead he tugged hard on his arm.  “We have a clear path now, run!” He was ridiculously strong for such a little twerp.

They sprinted along the ridge, quickly scrambling down a rocky slope and down towards the valley.  Behind them, the skinwalkers had already regrouped and were gaining ground on them fast.

They practically slid down the rest of the slope, Jason falling hard on his injured leg.  “Hood, get up, now!” Damian pulled him up on his feet, but the ground began to rumble. Thick columns of rock began forming around them, arching up into the sky.  The columns grew and merged, blocking them in, much like the rock dome they had seen before. They were trapped.

“John, can't you open up one of your weird doors or something?”  Jason turned to him desperately.

“Dontcha think I'm trying?  Bloody hell! There is somethin’ really fuckin’ _bad_ going on with this land!”

The skinwalkers caught up, but oddly hovered at the edges of the rock formation, blocking them in, but not engaging.

“Why aren't they attacking?”  Damian had begun blasting firebolts again, but the skinwalkers had wizened to his tactics.  They dodged easily, slinking into shadows before reforming back into a line.

“That’s why.”  John pointed at a newly approaching skinwalker.  It was slightly more grizzled looking than the others.  “They were waiting for the shaman elder. I can feel the blood magic coming off a’ him.”

The grizzled skinwalker was holding a lump of something in its hands.  It tossed it onto the ground as it approached, and Jason realized it was Lizzy, bloody and unmoving.  

“Lizzy!  You asshole, what did you do?”  Holy shit. The goat was supposed to be _indestructible_!  Jason brought out the medallion, and to his relief, she lifted her head before dissipating into a few sparks of light that flowed back into it.  She’d probably need some time to recover before he brought her out again.

“Now what?”  He turned to John.  The grizzled skinwalker was slowly approaching, a wicked grin spread across it's long face.

John grabbed Jason’s hand suddenly and pulled a switch blade out of his pocket.  “Now it's time to pull the tricks outta the bag!” Before Jason could react, John sliced a deep cut into his palm.

“What the fuck? John!”  He pulled his hand back at the pain, but John kept ahold with a surprisingly strong grip.

“Do your light thing!” John barked.

“What?”

“ _Now!_ ”

Jason had barely enough time to call up the purification when the grizzled elder suddenly pounced, it's clawed hand pulled back, palm open as if to strike.  At the same time, John swung Jason’s bleeding hand up, aiming it directly to meet the attacking skinwalker’s clawed palm.

“Purify it!” John shouted, and Jason did.  He pushed the energy surging forth inside him as his hand met the skinwalker’s.  There was another explosion of blinding light, he felt resistance - the skinwalker was fighting back.  He could feel a tendril of something dark pushing at him. Pushing at his mind, trying to wrap him in a suffocating darkness.  He shuddered involuntarily, almost recoiled, but John was still holding his hand up against the skinwalker’s.

“Keep pushing!”  John screamed into his ear.  “We are _beyond fucked_ if you let it take control!”

Jason pushed, but the darkness kept coming at him.  It felt horrifying. It started to overwhelm him. He felt something forcing itself into his consciousness, digging at the very core of his soul.

“ _Jesusmotherfuckingchrist_!  More blood!  You need to sacrifice more blood!”  John was yelling. “Sorry about this kid!”

There was suddenly a sharp pain in his thigh, and without looking he knew John had _stabbed_ him.  He nearly faltered, the initial jolt of the pain turning into an excruciating throb.

“Push!  Use your blood to draw power!”  John had his hands around his wrist again, pushing back against the skinwalker.

Blood.  Power. Something in him suddenly clicked.  He could feel his blood dripping into the earth, and there was something there underneath the surface, like a _current_ flowing.  He couldn’t explain it, but he could _feel_ it, and he could feel the skinwalker elder was drawing that same power into himself.  

Blood flowing into the earth… Jason’s blood turning into some kind of force.  He could feel it flowing away from him, and he realized he had to stop it _draining_ him or he would be lost.

He felt the darkness around him.  Felt it powerful and malevolent. And then he felt _light_ , flowing through some kind of source within him.  A current of energy much like the one in the earth.

At that moment, he realized John was wrong.  He didn’t need to _push_.  He needed to _pull_.  He refocused his mind on it, and _reversed_ the flow.  

There was a loud scream as Jason felt the energy channel through him, and it was like a dam breaking.  Suddenly it was rushing at him. _Into_ him, and he couldn’t stop it.  At some point he realized he had closed his eyes, and when he reopened them, he saw the skinwalker collapse before him.  Blood was flowing out of his eyes, out of his mouth, out of slits that suddenly appeared in it's thick hide. It was being exsanguinated, all the blood draining out of it and flowing into the earth.

To Jason’s horror, he felt it feed into the current in the earth, and then flow back into _himself_.

“Stop it!  John, how do I get it to stop?”  This wasn’t what he wanted. John had done some sort of blood magic, and now Jason himself was drawing power through the blood of the skinwalkers.  A short distance away, he saw several of the other skinwalkers fall, blood gushing out of their eyes. They writhed and screamed in the dirt as slits appeared across their abdomens, their entrails bursting out, their eyes rupturing in a spray of blood that was then drawn and absorbed into the ground.  All the while Jason felt it surge back into him through some kind of dark power embedded in the earth.

“No! I don’t want this”  Jason screamed in terror.  It felt wrong. It felt dirty.  He could feel the blood draining from them.  He could feel their life force ebbing. They were dying.  He could feel them dying. Oh god, _Jason_ felt like he was _dying_.  “John, stop it!  Oh god, make it stop!”

“You heard him, you vile man.  Cease this at once!” Damian was beside him, his hands on his shoulder, shaking him, and then yanking off his helmet.

“Fuck!  Kid, I didn’t think--,” John shook his head in disbelief and alarm.  “I don’t know what the fuck you’re doing! You were just supposed to purify it!”

More skinwalkers fell, until they were all crawling on the ground.  Trying to get away while bleeding from horrific wounds that appeared on their bodies, leaving a trail of dark mud in the earth.

“Todd, cease this at once, before you eviscerate us too!”  Damian slapped him hard, and it was enough to momentarily break his attention from the dying skinwalkers and the current of power flowing into him.

He could still feel the wrongness of it however.   _Dirty.  Dark. Blood.  Power._  More of it flowing into him as the blood drained into the earth.  “No! Oh god, it's still going! Make it stop!” Jason opened his eyes again as one of the skinwalkers clawed open it's own throat.  More blood. It filled his vision. All he could see was red.

“Focus on me.  Don’t look at them!”  Damian ripped off his mask, and turned Jason’s head to face him.  “Inhale! One, two, three. Exhale! One, two, three, four, five, six, seven....”

A breathing exercise.  Damian was directing him through a breathing exercise, and Jason forced himself to follow.  Inhaling and holding his breath, exhaling, and then repeating. Jason closed his eyes, tried to focus on the sound of Damian’s voice, “Inhale. One, two, three….”

It was all he could do to concentrate on Damian’s voice and simply breathe.  Long slow breaths that slowed the onslaught of power. He wasn’t sure how much time passed, but eventually Damian stopped.

“Todd, are you with me?”  Damian’s voice was quiet. It sounded different than usual, almost nervous.  He opened his eyes to see Damian staring at him, his eyes wide and wary.

“I’m….”  He was crouched on the ground, his hands clutched around his middle, his whole body trembling.  The surge of power was gone… he no longer felt the current of energy from the blood, but something felt _off_.  He looked around and saw the desiccated corpses.  He had done this. It wasn't guilt that bothered him though, no doubt the skinwalkers deserved it, but it was the brutality of the act that left him reeling.

He hadn’t just purified them, he had somehow ripped them to shreds and then literally sucked the life out of them.  It was an unpleasant reminder of the monster he used to be -- that part of himself that was scarred and ugly and filled with uncontrolled rage -- and he was terrified that he would become that bloodthirsty again.

“John, what the hell happened?”  Jason managed to stammer out. His teeth were chattering.  He felt cold and numb. Jason looked down at himself to see he was covered in blood.  The wound on his hand was still bleeding profusely, as was his thigh where John had stabbed him.  There were more cuts across the leather and armor of his arms. Those he wasn’t sure how he had gotten, but he could guess -- he had somehow caused horrific wounds to appear on the skinwalkers as they died, he must have inflicted them on himself as well.

“Todd, do not move.  You are in shock from blood loss.”  Damian was trying to hold him still, but Jason ignored him.

“J-- John.  What. The. Hell. Happened?”  He repeated, but his voice shook.  He tried to stand, but he couldn’t get his legs under him.

“Honestly, I dunno kid,” John said gravely.  “The shaman was going to do a blood binding on you.  Couldn’t have that, so I tried to have you counter it with your own blood.  But you did something else. You didn’t just counter it, you took control of something that’s infected this land.  Something they were using to draw power from.”

He took control?  Jason certainly didn’t _feel_ like he was in control.  He felt woozy as he tried to stand again, and he somehow managed it despite Damian urging him to stay seated.  

“We have to get out of here,” Jason stated as he took a few tentative steps forward.  Something was definitely off, and it wasn’t just the shock. It felt like he was moving through cobwebs, like he was pushing against an elastic resistance before whatever it was snapped and gave way.  Something was pulling at his sense of reality in a way that felt extremely familiar. He couldn’t place it immediately, but it was almost like things suddenly didn’t feel quite _real_.  

“This... something doesn’t feel right,” Jason turned back to the others.  “It feels like….”

“It feels like the Dreaming,” Damian said suddenly, the realization dawning on his face. “I feel it too.  I don't know how, but I remember the Dreaming now… when I died. And you were there too, Todd. What is this?  What is going on?”

Damian was right.  It did feel like the Dreaming, but not the _true_ Dreaming.  Memories of the Palace flitted at the edges of his memory, and this place definitely felt familiar, but not quite the same… and there were things that he had forgotten that were suddenly becoming more clear -- the image of a worn piece of paper came to mind, filled with tiny pictograms.  He remembered it told a story. _His_ story, and he had made some sort of deal….  

The numbness was beginning to fade and his head was starting to pound.  It seemed like the more he remembered the more his head hurt. His whole body hurt in fact.  Everything felt raw, and the stab wound in his leg felt like it was on fire. He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to center himself and then realized he had smeared a swath of crusty blood across his face. He looked down at his hands and saw the blood seeping from his palm.

Another memory suddenly entered his mind….

_A fiery blaze and searing pain, and then he was staring down at the singed and bloody corpse of himself as Robin.  Menacing laughter filled his ears -- the maniacal, crazed laughter of the Joker. Jason covered his face with his hands and screamed._

“Todd!”  Damian’s voice jerked him back into reality.  “Whatever you’re doing, stop it!” Damian was waving his hands around, and Jason realized it wasn’t just his spacing out that had Damian up in arms.  The _landscape_ around them had changed in the brief moment that he was caught up in his own head.  The cliff ridge and rock columns of the trap they had been standing in were gone. There was now burning rubble several hundred feet away, and the rocky gravel of the ground had changed into something more sandy.  He cringed in panic as he realized what he was looking at -- the warehouse in Qurac where he had died.

“Oh shit.  Oh shitshitshit!”  Jason backpedaled and fell, his injured leg unable to fully support his thrashing movements as he devolved into panic.  “Fuck. Fuck this is not happening! That’s not real!”

“Jason, get a handle on yourself!”  John was in his face the next moment, grabbing him by the lapels of his jacket.  “Whatever's going on, you’re mucking with reality somehow!”

“Unhand him!”  Damian shoved John aside, only to take his place in grabbing the collar of his jacket.  “Todd, listen to me. The physical world is reacting directly to your mental state. We will fix this, but you must stay focused or we will be imperiled.”

Jason found himself nodding, feeling dumbfounded as he tried to even out his breathing and calm his racing heart.  Never in his life did he think he would ever have to look to Damian of all people as an anchor, and yet here he was.  Damian was doing a reasonable job of keeping him grounded. It might have just been the shock or recent head trauma, but it seemed the little murder-boy was actually showing him concern -- even trying to protect him from _John_.

“Now, undo this… _scene_ you have created,” Damian went on.  “We must find Father and Richard, they will know what to do.”

The scene of the warehouse was his worst memory.  His worst nightmare… but _that_ was it, wasn't it?  He realized this wasn't the true Dreaming, but it had elements of the actual _Nightmare_ if it was making his worst fears materialize.

Another memory came into mind.  It was of the Corinthian, calming him, stroking his back and kissing his neck.  Telling him he could control the Nightmare to an extent if he focused on _lesser_ fears -- fears and memories he had could overcome.  Back then he had focused on what was familiar -- the mean streets of Crime Alley.  The place where he had grown up was dangerous, but he had learned to _survive_ there.  He knew it like the back of his hand.

The warehouse rubble of Qurac faded into the landscape and was quickly replaced by his memories of Gotham.  Concrete pavement, old brownstone buildings and the flickering yellow glow of sodium street lamps. Potholes lined the street, black dots of gum and refuse spotted the sidewalks, and huddled on the street corners were scantily clad hookers guarded by their pimps.  Cars cruised the street slowly, johns looking to pay as little as possible for a cheap fuck, dealers looked to hawk adulterated drugs to unsuspecting buyers out for a thrill, and kids darted in and out of alleys to run drugs and money into back offices. The streets were as hostile as they were home.   _That_ was the Crime Alley he both feared and remembered.

“Todd,” Damian glanced around cautiously.  He had produced a roll of bandage from somewhere and began binding his leg.  “I said to dismantle these illusions, not create a replica of Gotham.”

“No,” Jason shook his head, trying to explain.  “This is safer. Whatever's happening, it's somehow causing me to pull down from the Nightmare.  If I can keep focused on the familiar, I might be able to control it.”

“So this is the Dreaming, innit?”  John spoke up. “We’re somehow asleep?”

“No,” Jason replied.  “This isn’t the true Dreaming… it's more like some kind of Nightmare, but we’re awake.  It's related to the Dreaming, but it's almost like it’s an island that’s been cut off. This must have been what Bruce was looking for.  Something connected to Dream, and those skinwalkers were using blood magic to control it.”

Jason pushed Damian away and dragged himself up from where he had fallen.  The bleeding on his arms and hand had stopped, but the pressure on his leg sent a searing stab of pain through his thigh.  A fresh gush of blood seeped down his leg, dripping onto the ground, and he felt it again… that current of energy flowing through the earth.  There was some kind of spell working, and it was still seeking _blood_.  It felt like a thirst that was slowly building, even though it had recently been sated.

Jason shuddered, trying to shake off the urge to open up to it further.  Whatever magic it was, he was now connected to it, and it seemed to be drawing him towards its source.  It felt like a faint tug, like the world was tilting slightly in that direction, and all he'd have to do was follow it down, like the pull of gravity….

“Todd!  Do not let your mind wander!”  Damian was talking at him again, and the scene of Gotham snapped back into focus.  He belatedly realized that his vision had gone a little hazy, but judging by the look on Damian’s face, the physical world had warped for the rest of them as well.  The kid was a master of single-mindedness however, and he immediately brought Jason back to the reason they came here in the first place. “Father and Richard. Drake.  Your comrade, Essence. Focus on them. Do you know where they are?”

The demon brat was right.  He needed to keep his mind from wandering, but he was not in the best state of mind.  He was frazzled, his leg was throbbing fiercely, infection probably already setting in.  The anxiety he had felt on the plane ride had carried over, and was now multiplied tenfold.  He was barely keeping himself from falling into another panic, let alone figure out some way to find his family.

“I can't.  I don't know what the fuck I’m doing,” Jason admitted.  “John, can't you use some kind of magic to figure out where they are?”

“Jesus, I've got no fucking clue since you went full _Neo_ here and started manipulating the Matrix!”

“--Tt--.  Useless,” Damian assessed, and turned back to Jason.  “Todd, you can do this. I remember now that you… _helped_ me.  You made a bargain that bought me a place at the Palace of the Dreaming.  You taught me to _avoid_ the Nightmare.  If anyone knows how to navigate this place, it is you.”

The memories trickled into the edges of his consciousness.  He did remember something like that, of Damian standing in a throne room with Dream and Death.  He remembered he had seen Damian later too, standing on a balcony. His favorite balcony where he watched the sunrises and sunsets….

The sky started to change colors suddenly.  It started to lighten, the sun began to rise and strokes of crimson, turquoise, and golden yellow spread across the horizon.

“Todd, I said focus!  Father. Richard. If you can change the sky, you can find them!”

“Right,” Jason blinked, trying to pull his attention back.  He thought of Dick first, hoped to god he was okay. This all started when he wouldn’t wake up back at their apartment.  Maybe that was the key? The apartment he shared with Dick. Maybe if he could think of home….

A building appeared somewhere in the distance -- the building where Tim had outfitted the top floors into their home.  “There! We have to go there,” Jason stumbled forward. His whole body hurt, the pain in his leg making it difficult to walk.

“We need transportation,” Damian was frowning down at Jason’s leg, and then eyed a nearby parked car in the illusory streets.  “Are these dreamforms solid enough for us to use them?”

“I have no idea.”  Jason limped toward the car, but then instinctively ducked down when there was a sudden crack of gunfire.

There were screams, dreamform people started running down the street past them in panic.  More gunfire followed by angry shouts and return fire. It was some kind of firefight and it was getting closer.  Damian pushed him into a crouch behind a car, where John had already taken cover.

Several gunmen came into view, firing haphazardly at an approaching figure.  Jason thought he recognized some of them. Crime Alley gangsters, drug dealers and sex traffickers… but they were people he had _killed_ in the early days of his return as the Red Hood.  These were dreamforms of people who had died by his own hand.  The final gunman finally stepped into view -- a man, dressed in a red helmet and tactical gear.  A dreamform of _himself_ \-- Red Hood, in his early costume, without the bat symbol on his chest.  

The other Red Hood fired several more shots, nailing the gangsters with headshots.  Blood splattered across the pavement, and then he began firing at the bystanders running away in the street.  Screams filled the air. A woman running with her child fell onto the sidewalk, a pool of red spreading beneath her.  The child wailed before there was another crack, and he too fell silent in a wash of gore. The Red Hood was gunning innocent people down.

“No!”  Jason jumped out from behind the car, guns drawn and taking aim at the Red Hood.  This _wasn’t_ how it had happened.  He had never killed indiscriminately.  Death had agreed that he wouldn’t kill anyone who didn’t deserve it.

Wait, what?

The memory swirled in his head.   _He sat on a couch in a modern furnished room.  A tray of cookies. A glass of milk. A pale young woman with dark hair smiling at him.  Death._

The bargain!  He remembered making the bargain.  He agreed to kill to save his family, but not like this!  Never innocents. Never.

“Todd, what the hell are you doing!”  Damian was suddenly tugging at him, trying to pull him back under cover.  “Stop this! You are losing control. Cease this _nightmare_!”

Oh _fuck_.  Jason realized he had miscalculated.  His worst fears had changed since the Corinthian had taught him back when he was a dead teenager.  Back then he hadn’t yet rampaged through the streets of Gotham as a psychotic, pit-raged Red Hood bent on revenge.  He hadn’t yet turned the Crime Alley pavement red with his own murder spree. Now he had a whole new arsenal of worst fears and nightmares to torment himself with, and they were materializing here -- the worst parts of himself in this _living nightmare_ \-- the part of himself that could enact uncontrolled and monstrous brutality without batting an eye.

Jason faced the dreamform of himself.  The Red Hood at his worst, but even more horrific.  This was the Red Hood he feared _becoming_.  A Red Hood that would murder the innocent and the young.  He couldn’t become that. He couldn’t let himself become a monster.

“Stop this, you fucker!”  Jason shouted. “You’re not me!”

“You want to stop me? You’re going to have to kill me.” The other Red Hood laughed, raising his arms and slowly pulling off the helmet.  A red domino mask covered his eyes, but Jason recognized his own face. His mouth twisted into a cruel sneer, but there was a faint quiver to his lips.  Underneath the ugliness, he could see his own desperate pain. “You're going to have to shoot **me** ,” the Red Hood continued. “Right in my **face**.”

Those words… they were the same words he had said to Bruce when he had tried to force him to kill the Joker.  When he had been crying out for Bruce to give him a sign that he loved him, and now the ugliest part of himself was throwing it back in his own face.  

Jason remembered how much he had hurt back then.  How much he had used rage to cover the despair and betrayal that enveloped his heart.

“No! You’re NOT me!”  He took aim and fired, aiming directly at the Red Hood’s face, but his hands were shaking and he missed.  Instead the first bullet grazed the Red Hood’s neck. A second bullet hit true and impacted his chest. He fired several more shots, and the Red Hood fell backwards.  The dreamform collapsed, unmoving.

Jason lowered his guns, his hands shaking so badly he nearly dropped them.  A pain suddenly bloomed across his neck and chest. He looked down to see he was bleeding, his wounds mirroring those he had inflicted upon the Red Hood dreamform.  He dropped to his knees to the ground.

“Todd, you idiot!  Don’t move!”

“Christ, what the bloody fuck just happened?”

He felt hands on him, but Jason ignored them, memories he had long forgotten were now resurfacing into his thoughts.   _Dream looking at him sternly.  The Corinthian putting a gun in his hand.  Death pulling him into a hug. The Corinthian pushing him onto his back.  Dream looking at him with concern. The Corinthian hovering on top of him with a wicked smile.  A beautiful sunset. An enormous library with so many books that had only ever been dreamed...._  

The images jumbled in his mind.  It was too much. He didn’t understand what he was remembering.  He couldn't sort through the barrage of images and the flood of emotions that accompanied them.  He felt lost and alone. Desperately alone. He felt revulsion, shock, horror, and grief. He felt an overwhelming sense of despair.  Despair… _a large nude woman, sneering as she tore a gash down her cheek with a hooked ring._

He tried to shake the memories, but he couldn't stop it.  In the back of his mind he questioned, _why now?  Why was he remembering now in this nightmare?_

“He should be in shock!  He’s losing blood… help me put pressure on his wounds!  He shouldn’t even be able to keep upright at this point!”

“This whole cock-up’s some kinda fucking dream, right?  Maybe it's not real!”

The voices were still talking, but it sounded distant, and Jason didn’t register them into his mind.  Instead something moving down the street drew his attention. It was a man walking across the street, but he was oddly out of place in the grimey Crime Alley streets.  He was dressed like he came straight out of Victorian antiquity - brocade waistcoat, gray hair and mutton chops, round spectacles. He didn’t seem to notice the bodies or the blood, just turned a corner and disappeared out of view.  Something about him seemed familiar, but Jason couldn’t find a memory to match.

He got up to follow, his body sluggish.  Sharp pulses of pain coursed through his whole body and he fell again.  He thought he heard shouting, and then there were hands touching him. He recoiled.  He didn’t like hands… he didn’t like people touching him….

He tried to stand again to move away, but his body wasn’t responding, he felt strangely numb.   He couldn’t see very well for some reason. Everything looked blurry, and he blinked and realized there were tears in his eyes.  Was he crying? He tried to crawl forward, reaching his hands out on the ground until he touched something solid. It was rough and irregularly shaped.  He blinked a few more times until he could see it was a tree root. He followed it with his gaze until he was staring up at an enormous tree, so tall and wide.  He had seen trees like this before… hadn't he? His head felt fuzzy, his memories a jumbled flash of incoherent images. He stared up at the tree again, it reached far up into the sky, like a skyscraper.  So high it was pushing against the heavens with it's foliage-filled branches. Pushing so hard that there were _cracks_ in the sky.

_Cracks in the sky.  White bone and the clacking of legs.  Eight shiny black eyes. A white spider.  A withered gray body, a shrunken face with fangs.  It opened it's mouth and shrieked._

Jason sucked in a breath and choked.  His mouth was full of blood. There was blood coming from the cracks in the sky.  There was blood soaking the earth. It was coming like a torrent. Like a flood. He was going to drown.

He clutched his head and screamed.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, let me know what you think with these latest developments! Would love to know what your reactions are....  
> Edit: Note that spectacled man.. he may seem familiar if you have read Sandman Endless Nights and Overture.


	13. Chapter 13

~~~~~ Dick ~~~~~  

“Whoa!”  The Eye lurched on his feet and Dick reached out a hand to steady him, grabbing him by the elbow before he could fall.  “Thanks, I wasn't expecting that kind of power sink so suddenly.”

The Eye, for that was what Bruce had called it, smiled boyishly back at him, as if he was embarrassed and Dick found himself giving him a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder.  He looked so much like the _real_ Jason.  Or at least what he _used_ to look like -- which was pretty much exactly what Dick remembered from when he had first met Jason as a boy -- so much that he couldn't help but feel an almost automatic protectiveness over him.  It was what Bruce had warned about, that the Eye was using Jason’s form to evoke empathy, but Dick wasn't convinced that the entity was doing it out of ill intent. He had felt a genuine curiosity and concern in the snippets of memory he could remember from the dream snare.  Though the thought of this boy-Jason kissing him was unnerving, the remorse he expressed at violating Dick’s person seemed real. And when he allowed the Eye to touch him, the thoughts and impressions that cycled through his mind had little to do with Jason’s abilities, and everything to do with the immense love he felt for Jason and the heartbreaking worry he had for his safety and his mental state.  

Bruce was distrustful as was Essence, perhaps rightly so given their situation, but Dick knew in his gut that this creature wasn't out to hurt them.  He wasn’t sure how he knew, but underneath it all, the Eye suffered its own desperation and grief.

The Eye had steadied himself as Dick kept a firm hand on him, and he seemed to be taking in their changing environment with a kind of far off look, as if he was seeing something the rest of them couldn't.  They were standing half in an empty room that opened up into a long hallway lined with numerous apartments. The ambient sounds continued to come through the paper thin walls. There was a muffled scolding of woman, possibly in another language, maybe Portugese, and then the higher pitched complaints of children.  There was the clunk of chairs scraping across a hard floor. A creaky interior door open and closed. A toilet flushed. The low reverberating bass of someone blasting their music. Dick hadn’t ever had to live in places like this, but he recognized it as very much like some of the low income housing projects across Gotham City that Dick had come across.  The kind of place Jason would have been very familiar with as a child.

“What’s happening?  Why's Jason doing this?”  Bruce was leaning against a wall, the weariness and exhaustion apparent despite his efforts to hide it.  He looked bad, and that was saying something, because this was Batman, and Dick had seen him go without sleep and rest for a week and still look more functional than he did at the moment.  Whatever magic was draining him was getting worse, and they had to find a way to break it and get the hell out as soon as possible. Add to that, they had to find Jason fast, because the possibilities that came with him being trapped here grew exponentially worse by the second.

“Jason’s tapped into the blood machine somehow…,” the Eye knotted his brows, eyes closed.  “He’s changed the current, siphoning my power away from the skinwalkers and back to himself.”

“He’s taken power away from the skinwalkers?”  Dick asked. “Isn't that a good thing?”

“No, blood magic is bad no matter how you look at it,” the Eye shook his head resolutely.  “I'm still having trouble _seeing_ him… but I don't think he’s doing this on purpose.”

“We need to find him,” Bruce managed to push himself off the wall.  “He's not strong enough for this.”

“He _is_ strong enough,” the Eye bit back, “but I think that’s the problem.”  He was looking unsteady again, and he leaned into Dick’s hand as he spoke.  “He’s strong, but he’s… I can't describe it. It’s like the power is _twisting_ around him.  He's so confused.”

The Eye’s words hit Dick like a punch in the gut.  This was bad. He understood what Bruce really meant in saying Jason wasn't _strong enough_ \-- he shared Dick’s concerns that Jason had been through far too much trauma recently to hold his own against something like this.  He meant that there was only so much pain and burden that he could bear before it crushed him completely. Everyone had a breaking point, and he feared that Jason had come far too close to his as of late, and the current situation would push him over the edge.

“Guys,” Tim's voice interrupted Dick’s train of thought, “it's not just this building we’re in.  Gotham’s growing!” He was standing by the window, and Dick followed his line of sight out to the landscape.  When Dick had looked out earlier, the construct of Gotham had been limited to a few oddly placed Crime Alley blocks clustered against a small hollow in the gorge.  Now however, the few city blocks had expanded to fill the entire gorge, spreading out into the larger basin. Whatever Jason was doing, his affect was growing.

“I can see him….”  The Eye stumbled as he walked, balancing himself against the wall as he approached the window.  “He's with another Robin, and the magician. He's… afraid. He’s panicking.”

"He’s with Damian and Constantine?  Can you take us to them?” Dick put a firm hand on the Eye’s shoulder again.  

He nodded and moved back out into the hallway, still looking somewhat pallid, as was Bruce and Essence.  If Jason was siphoning power to build out the construct, he was likely unintentionally draining energy from them as well.  All the more reason to find Jason as soon as possible. They followed the Eye down the hall until they reached a door, which opened into a dimly lit staircase.  

No sooner had Dick set foot through the doorway than did the construct around them begin to change again.  The floor shook beneath them, it felt like they were rising into the air, and the dingy stairwell disappeared to be replaced by hardwood floors in a large, well lit room.  Dick did a double take as he recognized the furniture and decor. They were now standing in a replica of his and Jason’s apartment.

“Did Jason just send us back home?”  Dick looked around at the adjoining kitchen.  There were even dirty dishes in the sink. The door to their bedroom down the hall stood ajar and he could see the mess of his laundry on his side of the bed.

“No,” the Eye replied, looking at the surroundings inquisitively.  He seemed just as surprised as the rest of them. “We’re still in the construct.  I think Jason’s trying to find us by giving himself a landmark.”

“You’re right, this is the only replica of your apartment building.  It's a landmark for him to find us.” Bruce had been looking out a window, lowering a pair of binoculars as he turned back toward the rest of the group.  He looked worn out, balancing a hand on the window frame as he spoke. “The landscape is still changing. Growing. The rest of the construct isn’t an exact replica of Gotham, the same streets and neighborhoods are repeating.  Crime Alley, the Bowery, the Narrows. Over and over again, fitted together like some kind of maze.”

“He’s fighting my nature the only way he knows how.”  The Eye held his hands over his face. He looked wretched when he finally brought his hands away.  “But he has so much _damage_.  The blood machine is making it _worse_.”

“What do you mean he’s fighting your nature?”  Tim narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “Bruce said you’re an entity of the dreaming, but what does that mean exactly?”

“It means he’s a dreamstone -- a powerful artifact created by the Lord of the Dream.”  Bruce explained matter-of-factly. “This form he’s taken, it’s only a corporeal projection of it’s consciousness, but that’s not what the problem is, is it?”  Bruce pointed an accusing finger at the Eye as he spoke his next words. “I should have seen this as soon you began taking the forms of our subconscious regrets.  You’re not just formed from the Dreaming, you’re formed from the _Nightmare_.”

The Eye stiffened for a moment, before looking back defiantly.  “You’re right. I can’t help what what I am. I’m the Eye of the _Black Pearl_ for a reason.  The Lord Master made me with elements of the Nightmare to build a bridge from the subconscious into the conscious.  To weave hidden truths into stories that could be told. It was why you tried to find me, isn’t Bruce?” It was now the Eye’s turn to point an accusing finger.  “You wanted to find me because you wanted to _use me_.  You thought I could _fix_ him.”

“I’m trying to _help_ him!” Bruce countered.  “I wanted to help him _remember_.  It’s already happening too, isn’t it?  The bridging between the subconscious and conscious.  I’m remembering things I had forgotten. I can vaguely remember a conversation with the Dream Lord, but he made me forget.”  Bruce ground his teeth, and continued on in a low growl. “Jason’s remembering too, isn’t he? He won’t be able to handle it if it's not controlled.  The onslaught of memories will _break_ him.”

“I won’t let him break.  I’ll help him, but I can’t until I’m freed, and I can’t be freed until we can get Jason under control.”  Tears streamed down the Eye’s cheeks again, and Dick’s heart lurched at seeing the young visage of Jason wipe at them so pitifully.  He pulled himself together quickly however, and then more determinedly, “We need to find him. He won’t make it here. The nightmares are already coming through.”

“Take us to him,” Bruce’s voice was strained, and not just from the exhaustion from the blood curse that had been afflicting him.  He was more emotional than Dick had ever seen, even with the cowl covering half his face. Dick didn’t quite track with the entire conversation, but whatever Bruce was remembering was affecting him intensely, and the urgency to find Jason was apparent.

The Eye nodded, and began to move to the elevator life that led out of their apartment.  He paused however, and gave Dick a quick once over, looking him up and down before he turned and scurried away into the bedroom.  “Come with me a sec,” he called over his shoulder, and Dick followed to find the Eye digging through his closet.

“Here,” the Eye shoved something into Dick’s hands.  It was his Nightwing gear. “Get changed. Jason thinks your Superman pajamas are adorable,” the Eye’s face was still tear streaked and red, but he managed to call up Jason’s signature smirk.  “It's just not so cute if you're caught in a fight like that.”

“Is that even real?” Tim had trailed after them and stood close, his pose wary.  Much like Bruce, Tim was uneasy and distrustful of the Eye, and he was giving the suit a skeptical frown. “Isn't all this just an illusion?”

Dick looked down at the material of the suit in his hands.  It certainly felt and looked real, right down to the tiny scuffs and tears that came with regular use.  It was uncanny to think that it _wasn’t_ real… that Jason had somehow fabricated this from his memory, using the power of the strange dream creature standing in front of him.

“It’s real enough.  I’ve still got enough in me to make that permanent.  Trust me.” The Eye finished by handing Dick a pair of boots and escrima.  “Hurry and change.”

Dick stripped and changed quickly and returned to rejoin the others at the lift.  Their faces were somber, Bruce looked even more haggard than before and Tim looked worried.  Essence remained quiet and wouldn’t meet anyone’s gaze. Dick turned to the Eye, “you wanted me to be prepared to fight, but are we facing more skinwalkers?  How do we take them down?”

“Screw the skinwalkers,” the Eye said contemptuously, but Dick could tell it was a bluff to hide nervousness and anxiety.  Dick let it slide as the Eye continued. “Jason’s got what's left of them running for the hills at this point. We have to get through to Jason, but I can feel it already, everything’s already coming apart.”

“What does that mean?  What’s coming apart? You don't mean Jason?”  Worry didn’t even begin to describe what Dick was feeling.  He couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t let Jason fall apart.  He absolutely would not let it happen.

The Eye closed his eyes, and didn’t reopen them as he spoke.  “It's like a rope of thorns. The more he fights it, the more it tears him open.  Everything he hates about himself, everything he’s afraid of, every scar and every wound he’s ever had will be reopened.”

A dark wetness began to seep out of the corner of his eyes, and this time when the Eye wiped them away, a red smear appeared across his face and hands.  He was crying blood.

“Batman was right, I made a mistake,” the Eye sniffed.  “I shouldn’t have brought Jason here, because now he’s going to have to fight his worst enemy -- himself.”

//////////////////////////////

Jason’s construct of their apartment was incredibly thorough, and it extended down into their basement garage where there were several bat vehicles.  Tim had exercised extra caution when they accessed the lift down, citing the initial attack of the skinwalkers as the reason, but Dick could see he was nervous.  He couldn’t think his way out of this. None of them could. They were dealing with something that none of them fully understood, and even the Eye still had trouble seeing Jason.  He was weakening as well, as was Bruce and Essence, and they knew that once they left the construct of the apartment they would be walking into something bad. They had no choice however, Jason was in danger.  He was losing himself to this _nightmare_ , and he would pull the rest of them into it if they couldn’t get to him in time.

They ended up taking two vehicles.  There wasn’t a car in the garage that would fit the five of them, so Dick hopped onto a batcycle with the Eye riding two-up behind him, while Tim took the wheel of one of the cars with Bruce and Essence as passengers.  They sped out onto the streets, Dick in the lead as the Eye directed them through the winding streets.

Dick was surprised to see there were people running in the streets in panic, and he nearly stopped the cycle to get out to help them.

“No, keep going,” the Eye urged over his shoulder.  “They’re not real. Those are dreamforms.” Dick stifled his protective instincts and kept going, turning corner after corner in a maze of repeating streets.  Despite his training, Dick was disoriented -- the streets of Crime Alley morphed into the borders of the Narrows and then back again. They were turning down what seemed like the tenth time they were passing Park Row, when the pavement began to shake and crack beneath them.

Dick stopped the cycle, Tim halting the car behind them, and looked up at the sky.  It was an unnatural shade of red and green.

“What’s going on?”  Dick turned to the Eye.

“He’s remembering the Dreaming,” the Eye blinked away more blood tears as he stared up at the changing hues on the horizon.  “It's been so long since I’ve seen it, but I’d know that sky anywhere.”

There was another rumble of the ground, gunfire sounded in the distance, and the cracks in the pavement began to grow as an enormous tree root broke the surface.  Buildings crumbled as a towering tree trunk supplanted nearby buildings, leafy tree branches pushed upward and breached the sky. It seemed to hit some kind of invisible barrier however, the canopy smashing into a sort of ceiling, sending another round of tremors down the trunk and into the ground.  Dick could see the network of tree branches splinter as it rent the sky apart. Black cracks appeared in the sky, just like in that strange realm the spider had taken Jason too some months ago.

“Holy shit!”  Tim had jumped out of the car and was gaping at the sky.  “Are we inside some kind of dome?”

“This resembles the place where Jason was taken after he was taken by the spider,” Essence was supporting Bruce’s weight as they climbed out of the car after Tim.  “This must be a memory.”

“No, this is different.  This isn’t a memory.” The Eye was shaking his head in disbelief.  “It looks like the inside of the dead _world egg_ you’ve been to, but this one’s still alive.  Nightmares are colliding, but _something else_ is coming to the surface.  This doesn’t make any sense!” ”

“Whatever’s going on, we need to find Jason.”  Dick grabbed the Eye and turned him to face him.  “You’re the only one who can help us. Where is he?”

“He’s close,” the Eye turned toward the street.  “This way.”

They followed on foot.  The tree roots and tremors had destroyed the pavement so much as to be impassable by their vehicles.  They turned down another crumbling block, dreamforms of people fleeing and screaming in all directions.  It was chaos, and getting worse by the minute. Pools of blood and bodies lay on the sidewalks. The report of gunfire was growing more frequent and rapid.  If it was any reflection of what was going on in Jason’s head, they were in deep, deep trouble.

The Eye suddenly stopped short as he turned a corner, a look of abject fear on his face.  He was staring at someone sitting by a broken storefront, and Dick saw it was a woman. She was large.  Obese, with pale white folds of skin completely bare - showing her drooping breasts and stomach. She was jabbing at her face with something on her finger -- a hooked ring -- drawing it down the loose skin of her jowl, tearing flesh and trailing a deep red line down to her breast.

“Oh god.  This is bad.  This is very, very, _very_ bad.”  The Eye was backing away, pulling Dick and the others with him.

“Christ, is that really her?”  Constantine was already behind them, moving out of the woman’s line of sight.

“What is it?  Who is she? Do you know her? Is she one of the Endless?”  The bats were throwing questions out, trying to figure out what had the Eye and Constantine running away in fear.

“This way.  We gotta go around.”

“Who was that?” Dick demanded.  “Was that a dreamform? Another nightmare?”

“That was Despair.  A dreamform of her, but she can still cause a lot of damage without actually being present.  If she’s being materialized, it means she’s already gotten her hooks into him.”

“Did she cause this?  She made Jason do this?”

“No! I don’t have time to explain!” The Eye cried impatiently.  “Jason’s somewhere close. He’s should be here.”

They circled around the block in the other direction as quickly as they could, but Bruce and Essence were trailing, the strain on them becoming more and more apparent.  Dick hung back to take some of Bruce’s weight and pull him forward. Essence preempted any help from Tim with a death glare. Instead he took up Dick’s position in the lead with the Eye as they all trudged forward.

The pavement had transitioned into some kind of soil, and it was wet and muddy, soaked with a thick liquid that was certainly not water.  Dick didn’t let himself think about what it was. The sky was terrifying enough -- the black cracks in the sky were oozing red, like blood splattered across a glass dome enclosing the entire basin.

There was more screaming and gunfire as they turned the next corner, and a familiar figure ran past them.  It was Jason, dressed in one of his old Red Hood costumes, firing into a crowd as he ducked into an alleyway.

“Jason!”  Dick lunged forward, but the Eye immediately caught him on the arm.

“That’s not him!  That’s a dreamform!”

Another dark figure darted past in the other direction.   _Another_ Red Hood, in yet another retired costume, this one with the capsule shaped helmet firing at a line of thugs taking cover in a ruined building.  The Eye pushed them back behind a crumbled wall as a rain of bullets sprayed the street.

A third Red Hood appeared out of nowhere, in the more current Red Hood tactical gear and leather jacket, and fired off several shots, taking down the capsule-headed Red Hood as well as the thugs.  Dick leapt forward to confront him, hoping this was the real Jason, when a line shot out from the rooftop, lassoing the Red Hood figure and yanking him off his feet. He collapsed onto the ground, and a magical sigil appeared around him.  The figure convulsed before it stilled, and then begun to crumble into dust.

Dick looked on, frozen in shock and trying to make sense of what he had just seen, when he heard a familiar voice coming from the rooftop behind him.

“Damn, that one wasn’t real either.”

“Damian?”  Dick looked up to see a small figure peering over the roof’s edge.  “Is that you? Are you real?”

The figure dropped down to the ground.  It certainly looked like the real Damian, dressed as Robin and face donning his perpetual scowl.  He was wary, keeping his distance, batarang in hand as he gauged Dick and the others as they emerged from behind the crumbled wall.

“Is that really you, Richard?  Father? Drake?” Damian narrowed his eyes at Essence, and then suddenly noticed the Eye peeking out from behind Bruce.  He immediately reacted, throwing out another line to lasso him. Dick realized it probably looked to him like another dreamform of Jason.  The Eye was quick however, and flipped out the way before the lasso could tighten.

“Constantine, another one!”  Damian shouted, and another glow of magic appeared around the Eye.

“Crap! Tell them to cut it out,” the Eye shouted back.  “I’m not a dreamform, and they’re the real _Demonbrat_ and John!”

“Stop!”  It was Bruce this time, in his commanding Bat voice.  “Constantine, call off your spell and show yourself. Damian, it’s _me_.”

Constantine poked his head out from the rooftop above them, before moving to climb down a clanging fire escape toward the ground.  Damian was still cautious however, and he backed away when Dick tried to approach. “Prove it. Tell me something Todd does not know.”

“You hide your Red Hood Bat Burger action figure, along with the figures of rest of us in a secret diorama you made on top of your bookshelf.”

Damian face colored, and he scowled even harder before he tutted and said, “I don’t know how you know that Richard, but I’m glad it's really you.”

Dick rushed forward and pulled him into a hug, “I’m glad it's really you too, but what are you doing here?  How did you end up with Constantine?”

“We came here with Todd to save you,” Damian pulled out of Dick’s embrace and crossed his arms.  “Who is that boy? That is clearly not the real Todd.” He was pointing at the Eye, the Robin-form of Jason smiled back cheekily and waved back.

“That's….”

“He’s an entity of the Dreaming,” Bruce responded for him.

“--Tt--.  That must be the thing that led us here,” Damian advanced on it, taking an aggressive stance, and Bruce moved to intercede, but stumbled.

Damian’s expression quickly changed to that of concern.  “Father, are you injured?”

“He’s hexed with blood magic.  So’s she.” Constantine had finally made it down to the ground, and was now waving a glowing hand by Bruce and Essence.  A network of finely connected sigils glowed a bright red across their chests as Constantine moved his hand over them. “Their life’s being drained, probably by the same blood magic the skinwalkers were using.  Same thing Jason’s tapped into.”

Damian whirled on Constantine.  “This is your fault! You _forced_ him to perform blood magic!  Now it's also killing Father!”  Damian lunged, but Dick caught him before he could execute a nerve strike on the man.

“Whoa! Damian, hold up.  What happened to Jay?” Dick held the boy in his arms while he calmed. He was shaking, which was so uncharacteristic for Damian that he was doubly concerned.  He tried to hide it, but Dick could tell something happened to Jason that had scared him. “You said you came here with him, where did he go?”

“We fought the skinwalkers.  Todd defeated them, but Constantine forced some kind of blood ritual.  It allowed Todd to take control of their power, but he became… unstable.”  Damian paused to gesture at the jumble of streets around them, the enormous tree that had sprouted up, the cracked sky, the crumbled bodies of the Red Hood doubles.  “He did all of this, and then he went _mad_.  He fled.  We tried to follow, but we kept running into his copies.”

“Which way?”

“He came here, and then we lost him.”  Damian shook his head and looked back at Dick earnestly, “Richard, he _shot_ one of his copies, but the damage was mirrored on himself.  He should have bled out… but he still ran.”

Damian was wide-eyed, and Dick couldn’t even imagine what Jason was going through.  They had to find him fast, but they needed to understand what was happening. Dick turned to Constantine.

“What did you do to him?  Why’s Jason losing control like this?  Did you hex him with blood magic too?” Dick couldn’t keep the accusation out of his voice as he said it.  He had _known_ Constantine couldn’t be trusted, and it was apparent that the magician had caused Jason to become unhinged.

The Englishman ran a hand through his hair.  He was smoking again, a sign of nervousness. His stance was defensive as he spoke.  “Christ, I was fucking kidding before when I said he could go full Freddy Kreuger! I didn’t _hex_ him, I tried to save the kid.  I used blood yeah, ‘cuz an elder bloodmage was going to _possess_ him, and we needed to fight _fire with fire_.”

“So you did use blood magic!”  Essence managed to draw up a burst of energy and shot forward to grab him by the collar.  “I will make you suffer for this!”

The Eye grabbed her arm and tried to pull her away, “No, don't blame him.  This is _my_ fault.  I wanted him to come, I knew who he was when I saw him in the Batcave.  He’s the _Laughing Magician_ of this age, and this is part of the _synchronicity_ that he brought with him.  This needed to happen, but I can’t see clearly enough to know how all the pieces fall into place.”

“You’re not making any sense,” Dick said in frustration.  “Just get us to Jason. Where is he?”

“I’m not sure… he’s everywhere,” the Eye closed his eyes and put his hands to his temples.  “This is all him… I can’t pinpoint where he is, but he’ll probably gravitate toward the source.  He’ll go to the blood machine.”

“Then take us there!”

“We can’t!  You’ll die if you set foot in that thing!”

“Then take us as close as you can.  Maybe we can head Jason off before he gets there.”

The Eye swallowed apprehensively, but nodded and led the way down another twisted street.  The dirt beneath their feet was becoming more and more wet and muddy, soaking everything in dark red, a coppery smell of permeating the air.  Dick couldn’t deny what it looked like anymore. Illusion or not, the streets were running red with blood, so much that it was gathering into streamlets in the gutters of the broken sidewalks.

They saw more dreamforms, more panicked people screaming, more Red Hoods zipping across the skyline, darting between buildings, firing into the streets.  They ignored them. Ignored the bodies piling up, dodged the spray of bullets and the slush of bloody mud that now crept up past their ankles. They kept moving, because _it wasn’t real_.   Dick repeated it to himself like a mantra as they followed the Eye, until the ground shook again and they fell to their knees in the blood red mud.

More cracks and fissures opened up in the ground, more roots sprouted through as more enormous trees pushed forth from the ground around them.  The bloody cracks in the sky widened, and a red rain began to fall. Dick wiped the coppery liquid out of his face, pulled himself up and helped Bruce out of the thick blood clay.  He was startled however, when he looked up to see a strange man walking, seemingly unaffected by the chaos around them at the end of the street.

He was dressed smartly, much like Alfred did on a normal day, in a formal morning jacket, complete with waistcoat and bowtie.  He was walking briskly, turning a corner and then disappearing out of view.

“We saw that man earlier,” Damian was pointing. “Todd followed him and disappeared.  Is he a dreamform? Who is he?”

“That’s… he’s a dreamform, but that’s not possible.”  The Eye had a puzzled expression on his face, trying to sort something out in his head.  “There’s no reason any of you should ever have seen him, even Jason, unless….”

“Unless what?”  Bruce growled, exhaustion and the draining magic pushing him past the point of any patience.

“Unless Jason’s bringing forward something deeper.”  The Eye put a hand over his heart, balling it into a fist.  “The blood machine’s entangled itself deep into Jason’s soul.  He’s bringing forward a burden from an earlier existence.”

“That doesn’t tell us anything.   _Who_ is that man?”

The Eye continued to stare at the point at which the man disappeared, brow furrowed as he processed something through his mind.  His next words were measured, as if choosing his words very carefully. “If that’s who I think it is, that’s Glory of the First Circle, the council that set the rules of the universe.  I don’t know how, but that man isn’t a memory, he’s a _scar on Jason’s soul_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * There was a series published some years ago called the The Books of Magic or something, that featured John Constantine in a supporting role where he was one of several guides for a young boy named Timothy Hunter, who was supposed to become one of the most powerful mages of the age. In it, young Tim traveled to the fairy realm where he happened upon something called a “mundane egg” -- and it turns out the egg is anything but mundane. It's where a world is birthed from, and he ends up trading it to Titania, Queen of Faeries (who is also secretly his mother) to escape. The Books of Magic also features a very brief appearance of “Old Glory” - who is more than he seems - he also appears in the Sandman Overture as Glory of the First Circle. Not much is explained about him in the series, so the reader is left with more questions than answers. I’m taking some liberties to interpret here, so more to come on him and my take on what everything means. 
>   * In Rebirth Batman #16, the bat boys, minus Tim (they think he’s dead) go to a Bat Burger joint and Damian gets a Red Hood figurine with his “happy meal.” Jason steals it from Damian. And in this fic, I had him steal it back and make a little action scene for himself that he keeps hidden. 
>   * In the old Hellblazer series, it was explained that John Constantine is part of a long line of mages with the title “the Laughing Magician,” and one of the things that happens is that he can “ride the wave of synchronicity” - get things to sync up and work in his favor, but only up to a point. It often has dire consequences for those around him, as is shown by what’s happening here. 
>   * In my mind, dreamforms are like NPCs -- non-player characters. Hehe. 
> 



	14. Chapter 14

~~~~~ Bruce ~~~~~  

 _A scar on Jason’s soul._  

The Eye’s words reverberated through his mind.  He didn’t know what that meant in concrete terms, but the implications of that made him feel sick.  What could have scarred Jason so badly? What did it mean to carry a burden from one life to the next?  Was that even possible? Their whole situation was illogical, defying every sort of law of reality, but yet here they were.  And the most poignant part of it was he _remembered_ now.  He remembered meeting with the Lord Dream in his palace.

He remembered being shown the page, being told of everything Jason had done and sacrificed for their sakes and for the sake of the universe.  He remembered his blumbering apology and the wretchedness and pain of betrayal that was written all over Jason’s tear-streaked face. And even after they had reconciled, Jason still continued to hurt, and Bruce couldn't do a damned thing to help him.  

 _Dream had made him forget_ , Bruce thought bitterly.  Dream had stopped him from being able to fully help his son.  Maybe if he had known, he could have stopped Jason’s descent into this nightmare.... Maybe he would have sought out a way to help reconcile Jason’s consciousness in the Dreaming with the reality of the waking… but… wasn't that what he was doing now?

Memories or not, he had still come here to find the Black Pearl to do exactly that.  He didn’t know if things would have turned out differently if he had known, but one thing was clear now - Jason absolutely _could not_ handle the full trauma of his actions in the waking.  Not like this. Jason’s mind was breaking, and whatever connection he now had with the dreamstone was forcing it into reality.  Bruce had to find Jason before he destroyed himself.

“We have to keep going or we’ll get swallowed up.”  The Eye’s voice interrupted his train of thought. The strange man -- Glory -- had disappeared when they followed him around the corner, and the Eye was already stepping forward to follow.

“Hang on, you didn’t tell us what that means,” Dick stopped him with a hand on the shoulder.  He fixed his glare on the Eye. “How did that man scar Jason’s soul? Is _he_ what’s causing this?”

“I don’t know why he has a scar, but I can see it, and it's not _causing_ this.  It's more like it's _reacting_.  The blood machine is what’s doing this to Jason.  It twists and corrupts, it's bringing all this to the surface, and Jason is… ‘ _messed up’_ doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

“What exactly is this blood machine?”  Dick followed on.

“It's… like a spell,” the Eye struggled to explain.  “It was made to trap and channel power, but it kind of got out of control.  It's gotten bigger, and more and more entrenched over the millennia.”

“I can sense it's presence…,” Essence spoke up from where she had been crouched on the ground.  She was growing increasingly weak, barely able to keep up despite her reluctant acceptance of Tim’s support.  She put her hands into the muddy clay of the ground as she continued to speaking, “As the Eye says, it is like a machine.  It has no consciousness, not strictly speaking, but yet it has purpose. The nature of it is impure. It seeks to perpetuate itself.”

“And it uses blood and corruption as fuel,” Tim supported.  “How do we stop it?”

“ _We_ can’t,” the Eye shook his head.  “We need Jason. I _know_ he can do it because the skinwalkers knew he could do it… we just need to figure out how to pull him out of this nightmare.”  The Eye waved them forward again. “Come on, we need to keep looking for him.”

“Can’t you open another portal or a shortcut,” Tim asked, “like the attic ladder from earlier?”

“This _is_ the shortcut.  Everything’s warping... bending.  Jason’s worst nightmares are on endless repeat.  It's all I can do to keep us from going in circles.”

The Eye led them away and they followed, and the dreamforms and memories seemed to get worse and worse as they kept on.  The landscape became more and more fractured. Memories of Jason’s more recent traumas were colliding with the cityscape of Gotham and blending into reality -- Bruce recognized the fissured stone floor of the hellish plane the spider had taken Jason to.  The dark leathery demons with pointed ears they had fought began to appear. He saw a dreamform of the gray legless spider crawling across the ground. Open pools of green water began forming -- the Lazarus pits -- all the while numerous dreamforms of the Red Hood appeared and disappeared, screaming, firing off weapons in all directions.  It was heartwrenching to watch Jason’s tormented mind exposed like a raw wound. Sometimes the dreamform Red Hood was torn to pieces in front of them, sometimes he was maimed beyond recognition. Other times he gunned down other dreamforms -- adversaries and civilians alike -- but he never attacked them directly. It gave Bruce hope that some part of Jason was still there, that he had enough control of himself that he didn’t want to hurt his family.

Bruce tried to stay focused on their task of finding Jason, despite the exhaustion and viselike pain that gripped his chest.  The magic was getting worse, draining his energy until it was growing difficult to breathe. Dick was very nearly dragging him along, and beside him he could see Essence had finally accepted Tim’s shoulder as leverage as well.  They turned down another narrow alley, and Bruce stopped short when he heard it -- maniacal laughter. There was only one man who laughed with such bone chilling glee -- the Joker.

All the bats froze at the sound, instinctively moving into fight stances as the scene warped around them.  Bruce was unprepared however, when he recognized the scene that played out before him.

The Red Hood stood there, holding a dreamform of the Joker in a choke hold, a gun to his head.  The exact replay of when Jason had first returned, when he had angled to take over the underworld and lured Batman into the fateful confrontation with the Joker.  When he had tried to force Bruce to choose between compromising his own morals and losing his son a second time. And then the Red Hood spoke the very words that had haunted Bruce in his own worst nightmares:  “You want to stop me? You’re going to have to kill me. You're going to have to shoot **me**.  Right in my **face**.”

It felt like a shot through the heart.  He couldn’t watch this again. “No, this isn’t real,” he found himself saying, but that wasn’t quite true.  This was most certainly real. It was just that it had already happened.

“Aaaargh!”  A scream more like a roar suddenly broke the scene apart.  Another Jason crashed through with guns blazing. A bullet tore through the Joker’s head, blasting off half his face with the exit wound, and several more bullets tore through the Red Hood that had been holding him.  He fell to the ground in a lifeless heap, riddled with bullets, his face and body an unrecognizable mess of red splatter.

The second Jason had his helmet off, and he lowered his guns and heaved, buckling at the knees and throwing up blood and bile.  He was covered in wounds, his clothing torn to shreds, blood pouring from his eyes and mouth. Red seeped from torn flesh on his thigh and out of gunshots wounds in his chest, gushing a new dark red flow with every bending movement and every rattling breath.  With wounds like those, he shouldn’t have been standing, let alone alive, but he was. He gritted his teeth and pulled himself upright, letting out a sound that was something between a growl and a wail of pain.

The Eye had been staring, mouth agape, but collected himself enough to shout out, “That’s him!  That’s the real Jason!”

“Jay!”  Dick lunged forward, but Jason twisted out of the way.  Bruce could see he had a wild look in his bloodshot eyes.  If there was any recognition Bruce couldn’t see it. He looked and acted like a frightened animal, backing away in panic.  Bruce edged around to the side, Tim and Damian following suit to block his escape, and Dick tackled him to the ground, pinning him with his body.

Jason let out a blood curdling scream, and Dick flinched back but didn't let go.  “Jay, snap out of it! Jay, it's me! Stop this!”

Jason responded by flailing harder.  The ground began to shake again, and then a voice broke in from the alleyway behind them, “You want to stop me? You’re going to have to kill me.  You're going to have to shoot me. Right in my face.”

There was another Red Hood dreamform standing there again, holding yet another Joker in a chokehold.  The memory was repeating itself, and it was driving Jason further into madness.

Jason roared and threw off Dick’s grip in an enormous show of strength.  He rolled to his feet and immediately began firing again upon the Red Hood and Joker, emptying his clip in a matter of seconds.  Bruce dove for him this time, knocking the gun out of his hand and pinning him on his back on the ground.

“Jason!  Look at me!  Focus on me!”  Bruce ripped off his cowl, grabbed Jason’s face and forced him to look him in the eyes even as he thrashed wildly.  “Jason! Stop!”

Jason closed his eyes and tried to push away, and then a voice from behind them repeated, “ _You want to stop me? You’re going to have to kill me.  You're going to have to shoot me. Right in my face_.”  

The Red Hood and Joker dreamforms were back.  Endlessly repeating in this horrific living nightmare.

“ _You’re going to have to shoot me…. You’re going to have to shoot me….  Right in my face._ ”

More Red Hoods appeared and surrounded them, repeating the same line over and over again.

“Christ! You’re making it worse!”  Constantine exclaimed, throwing down a magical barrier as the dreamforms approached.  “They just keep coming!”

“Todd!  Get control of yourself!”  Damian shoved his way between them and before Bruce realized what he was doing, Damian slapped Jason hard across the cheek.

“Dami!”  Dick blocked him from executing another blow.

“It worked before,” Damian protested.  “Look, he has stopped struggling.”

Sure enough, Jason had gone still.  Bruce looked down to see Jason was looking back at him.  His eyes were finally lucid with recognition, but he was shaking, and his breath coming in gasps.  

“B- Bruce?  It h-hurts,” he stuttered through clattering teeth, and then covered his ears, shaking his head.

“Jason, listen to me,” Bruce desperately reached out, pulling his hands away from his ears and clasping them in his own.  His voice broke with his emotion as he pleaded, “Please Jason, you have to stop this somehow. I’m trying to help you, but you need to stop this nightmare.”

“I- I ca- can’t…,” he sobbed and pushed Bruce away.  “I can still... hear him….”

Bruce could hear it too… they all could.  There were several Jokers amidst the Red Hood copies, in chokeholds or lying riddled with bullet holes on the ground -- it started off as a chorus of low, crazed giggles, before escalating into loud raving laughter that resounded all around them.  Jason cried out in real visceral pain, and it was all Bruce could do to cradle him to his chest. Jason squirmed and cried in his grasp, before suddenly reaching out a hand to touch Bruce’s chest as if noticing something. A network of connected sigils glowed where Jason’s palm lay over his heart.  He narrowed his eyes and then glanced at Essence who was hovering by his side, and Bruce realized that Jason was seeing the blood hex that afflicted them both.

He closed his fist over Bruce’s chest, and then shook his head.  “I can’t… it won’t work. I can’t stop the flow.”

The rest of his words were drowned out by the increasingly loud laughter of the Jokers.  Jason curled into himself and let out another whimpering cry.

“No Jason, no!  Stay with me!” Bruce cried, clutched him in his arms in a vain attempt to keep him sane, but Jason was losing control again.  He was losing himself to the nightmare of a world created out of the trauma of his own mind.

“Take them out!”  Damian cut down one of the Jokers, and Constantine sent a blast of magic that caused several of the dreamforms to crumble, but it was to no avail.  Jason let out yet another tortured gasp and wrenched himself out of Bruce’s arms. The ground began to slope beneath them, the buildings around them crumbled, and in the next moment they were sliding down a rocky slope of a ridge.  Bruce heard the others shout as they tumbled amidst a fall of slippery mud until they came to a halt amidst a flat plain. Bruce looked up to see the landscape was now dominated by the enormous trees again, a river of red was running across the horizon and the black cracks were growing larger across the crimson sky.

They picked themselves up, struggling against sticky globs of clay that clung to their limbs, and no sooner had Bruce glanced around to catalog his sons, the Eye, Essence, and Constantine -- than did he see Jason bolting across the scene.  He was running after a figure a short distance away -- it was the formally dressed man they had seen early, the one the Eye had called Glory -- and he was making his way toward a lone building. It looked like an abandoned warehouse, exactly like the one Jason had died in in Qurac.  The man opened the door to the warehouse and went inside, Jason disappeared quickly after him.

They scrambled to follow, Dick reached the door first, but it was locked firmly shut.  Laughter and screaming sounded from inside and Dick threw himself against the door, trying to break it down.  Tim joined him, kicking in the door and they all pushed through, only to find…

They were back on the streets of Gotham.  It was somehow even bloodier and more lain to waste than before.  The walls of the crumbling buildings were pock marked with bullet holes, the pavement was riven with open chasms, hot steam vented out and the smell of sulfur permeated the air.  Bodies littered the streets, almost all of them copies of the Joker or of Jason himself.

Bruce spun around, looking for signs of the real Jason, and beside him, Dick and the others were doing the same.

“No! Damnit!”  Dick kicked the ground in frustration.  Bruce could see he was nearly breaking down in worry and fear.

“This wouldn’t be happening if you guys weren’t such a bunch of jerks!”  The Eye suddenly snapped. He was standing somewhat apart from them, he still had his mask off, still in the form of a young Jason Todd, and Bruce saw for the first time a genuine anger in his eyes.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”  Dick was instantly defensive. “Are you saying that this is _our_ fault?”

“Yes!  Why do you think you couldn’t get him to stay grounded?  Why do you think he was so quick to run away from you? You’re a part of his nightmare!  All of you. Especially _you_!”  The Eye pointed straight at Bruce.  He stomped over and kicked a nearby dreamform Joker’s corpse and glared.  “This is the man who tortured and beat him to the brink of death, and then finished him off with a bomb while he laughed the whole time.  And you just… _let him live_.  You think torturing yourself with guilt is enough?  You think that somehow makes up for what he went through?”  It wasn’t so much a statement but a clear accusation.

“He sacrificed everything for you,” the Eye wasn’t done.  His words were vicious, his lip in an ugly curl that showed a glimpse of the long sharp teeth of the coyote form.  “ _Everything_.  The Endless gave him a choice -- keep his soul intact or give up everything to become a killer and save the people he loved.  He sold his soul for you. He chose _you_ over himself.  And you couldn’t do the same for him?”  He advanced several steps forward, a finger jabbing in the air that speared the words right through to the core.  “You know what I’m talking about Bruce. Dream showed you the deal Jason made. I know you _remember_ now.  I can _see_ it in you.”

Dick looked aghast, “Bruce, what's he talking about?”

Bruce couldn't find a response.  He did remember. He remembered everything Dream had showed him, and words caught in his throat as he struggled to reign in the anger, the grief and the regret.  He couldn't think clearly. Everything about this place… it wasn't just Jason's worst nightmare, it was _his_ as well, but he couldn't deny the Eye’s accusations either.  He remembered the Lord Dream had similarly skewered him when he had revealed the truth of Jason’s actions to him in the Dreaming.  It was true, ultimately Bruce had been selfish. He had thought that he was being _better_ \-- that there were lines he could never cross because it was the right thing to do, but the catch was that it also meant he was being _worse,_ because it blinded him to the sacrifices others made that he wasn’t willing to.

Bruce was at a loss.  There wasn’t anything he could say that would make this right.

Constantine however, took that as an opportunity to speak when Bruce failed to respond.  “Er… not arguing with the Eye-stone’s assessment,” he shifted awkwardly, “but could we put the family infighting on the shelf and get back to getting the fuck out of here?”

“Shut up!  Why are you even here Constantine?”  Damian lashed out suddenly, his words cutting and sharp.  Bruce could see he was trying to deflect some of the attention away from him as he focused on Constantine.  “If this is anyone’s fault, it is yours! _You_ made Jason do the blood magic that tied him to the machine!”

“I’m here ‘cause I can’t get the bloody hell away from you fuckers, that’s why!”  Constantine clipped back. “You call yourselves heroes when you’re really just a buncha wankers, like a pack of elephants trying to piss into a teacup.  You’re standing here pointing fingers at each other while your boy is somewhere alone, terrified, and ripping himself ta pieces!”

There was a thundering silence. No one dared move or say anything as the words hung in the air like a suffocating loud.

The silence was only broken when behind them, another Red Hood dreamform was stirring again, repeating the words that had haunted Bruce ever since that fateful confrontation after Jason returned.

_“You’re going to have to kill me.  You're going to have to shoot me. Right in my face.”_

Bruce spun to face the dreamform, and saw it drawing itself up onto hands and knees.  It raised its head as he repeated the phrase again, “ _You’re going to have to kill me.  You're going to have to shoot me. Right in my face.”_

And then Bruce saw it.  This dreamform was different.  It was a copy of Jason, but this time, instead of the teal-blue eyes of his son, the horror that stared back at him had _toothy mouths_ for eyes.  Like the Corinthian.

“A nightmare of the true Dreaming?” The Eye exclaimed in shock.  He moved closer and leaned in to peer at the Corinthian-Jason hybrid, tentatively extending a hand to touch it's face.  “This isn’t just Jason’s mind. This is a message. I think… it's _them_.  They’re trying to break through!”

“Who’s trying to break through?”  Dick stepped closer as well. He was clearly disturbed by the hybrid dreamform, stopping just out of arm's reach.

The hybrid smiled sickeningly at them, before shuddering, spitting blood out of its eyes and mouth, and began to crumble.  “ _You want to stop me? You’re going to have to kill me,”_ it repeated one last time. _“You're going to have to shoot me.  Shoot me. Right in my face.”_

The Eye drew his hand back, releasing the form as it began to break apart into blood and clay.  “The Corinthian just tried to insert himself! He must be coming. Him and the Lord Dreaming, but they couldn’t get through.  They were sending us a message.”

“What’s the message? What does it mean?”

“Exactly what he’s been telling us _all this time_ \-- if we want this to stop, they need this nightmare disrupted long enough to break it down.”

“How?”  Bruce asked.  “What do we need to do?”

The Eye pressed his lips together, and then wiped at his eyes.  He was starting to cry once more, and then he raised his hand up and pointed two fingers out, miming a gun.  He slowly turned his fingers to press against his own temple. He swallowed, looked at Dick, and then back at Bruce.  

“We need Jason to sever his connection to the material ego, just long enough to end this,” the Eye said.  “We need to get Jason to _kill himself_.”

Beside him, Dick was struggling to find words.  He moved his jaw, but no words came out, until finally he stammered, “You can’t be serious.”

Bruce on the other hand, was filled with fury.  “Absolutely not! How dare you?” He grabbed the Eye by the tunic again and shook him.  “You are not killing Jason!”

“I said he needs to kill _himself_.  In order to _wake up_ ,” the Eye kicked out, loosening Bruce’s grip and flipping to land a few feet away.  “The blood machine will continue to fuel the nightmare, and it _will_ kill him and take his blood and power.  But if Jason is in control… he only needs to disrupt the _material_ ego within the dreamscape.  If he does it himself _within_ the nightmare, he might be able to wake himself up without actually dying.”

“Might?”  Dick asked.

He was answered by silence.

“We can’t take that chance,” Dick collected himself from the earlier shock of the Eye’s words, and he was now standing firmly, giving the Eye a steely glare.  “If there’s any chance that he’ll actually die, we can’t let that happen. There’s got to be another way.”

“That’s all we’ve got right now.  The Corinthian said--.”

“We can’t trust the Corinthian!”  Dick yelled. “How do you know he isn’t lying to you?  To us? That he doesn’t just want to get Jason killed?”

“But--.”

“No.  Dick is right,” Bruce added.  “That monster is a rapist and a murderer.  He’s taken advantage of Jason at every chance.”

“We cannot trust this creature either,” Essence added, pointing at the Eye.  She had been crouched by a nearby wall, but now she pulled herself up to stand by them in defiance.  “By his own admission he is a trickster, a creature of pure deceit.”

The Eye looked back at her with a scowl.  “The Corinthian serves the Lord Dreaming, as do you, Essence.  I may have been trapped here for eons, and used as a _tool_ by the Brother Wolf, and then as a _battery_ by the skinwalkers, but I still serve my true creator.  The Lord Dream needs Jason to end this nightmare, so that is what I will do.”

“No!”  Bruce lunged for him again, but the pain and exhaustion of being drained was slowing him down.

The Eye easily dodged, tumbling and rolling away, even as Dick and the others surrounded him.  “You don't believe in him, but I do.  And if you won’t help me, I’ll do it myself. You can’t stop me! I’ll find Jason _first_ and I’ll get him to end this.”

He feigned a strike at Tim, who immediately moved to counter, only to backflip over Damian instead.  It was a tactic he had seen Jason use back from his Robin days, when he was cornered and facing multiple opponents.  The Eye executed it perfectly, landing on his feet and sprinting away down the street.

They ran after him, but they lost him when he turned down an alley that ended with a brick wall.  It was a dead end.

They searched high and low, but the Eye was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys remember chapters 5 and 6? All that stuff with the Corinthian showing Jason about how to escape the Nightmare? Well now it should start to make sense, right? Or at least give a hint of what's going on. If not, go back and reread it!


	15. Chapter 15

~~~~~ Dick ~~~~~  

“Shit!”  Dick punched the wall, and then sank to his knees, despair threatening to overwhelm him.  The Eye was gone, off to try and get Jason to _commit suicide_.  The thought was unfathomable -- it was too heartbreaking to imagine -- and yet he could see it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility.  He had seen Jason sitting by himself with a gun in his hand in the stockroom in their home. Jason had been willing to drug himself into oblivion not more than a few days ago just to see the Corinthian, and his mental and emotional state over the last several months was precarious at best.  And with the torturous nightmare that they were all trapped in -- he had already seen it drive his lover to madness, the pain and desperation in his eyes before he ran away… Jason was in pure agony. All would take was a little push, and Jason might consider ending his life, and this time he may not ever come back.  

They had to find Jason before the Eye succeeded, but how?  They had no way of tracking him or Jason in this maze, unless… they still had a mage or two in their ranks.  Essence was barely able to stand, but Constantine had unsurprisingly managed to remain unscathed.

“Constantine,” Dick jumped up and grabbed him.  “Find him. Use your magic. Can you zero in on him like you did before, when we tracked the spider?”

“Jesus, no. I don’t wanna know how recently he fucked you, but that sigil took _hours_ to put together.  We don’t have that kinda time!”

“Then try _something_.  Anything!”  Dick said frantically.  “You set this in motion somehow, I’m holding you accountable!”

“Fine,” Constantine reached into his coat to pull out a packet of cigarettes.  He lit one with a fingertip and took a drag before continuing. “Not like I can sod off even if I wanted to.  Jason’s done gone off his trolley and took us with him.”

“This isn't his fault,” Dick upheld.  Jason was the victim in this. He was the one paying the worst kind of price.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.  Fault’s all mine,” Constantine mumbled around the cigarette in his mouth.  “I heard you knobs the first time.” He did a half turn, presumably taking in the nightmare that surrounded them -- still a patchwork of Gotham, the hellish demon plane, the enormous trees, along with other settings that Dick didn't quite recognize.  He stopped and turned back to look at their party.

“Hmm.”  Constantine eyed Essence discerningly.  She had been mostly silent and purposefully inconspicuous, reserving whatever energy she had left given the blood hex that aggrieved her.   Dick guessed that if she had been able, she would have dissipated into smoke already and been on the search for Jason on her own, but she was visibly and significantly weakened.  It must have been hard for her to appear so vulnerable in front of them. The few times that Dick had seen her, she had always been extremely guarded. She had formed some kind of working partnership with Bruce, but otherwise she kept herself distant from them, save for Jason.

“I can see you conniving, magician,” Essence hissed at Constantine.  “You see an opportunity to use me. Speak your thoughts, before I use the last of my power to wring it out of you.”

“Since the lady asked so nicely, eh?”  A swirl of cigarette smoke wafted around him as he spoke. “Well then, I say we follow the _drainpipe_.  Magic’s getting sucked outta you, and back into this so-called blood machine.  We give it a magicked tracer and follow the trail, but we might need to have a little more blood flowing.”

“What you propose,” Essence narrowed her eyes, “would _hasten_ my demise.”

“A worthy cause, innit?  All that undying love for the kid in that dark lil’ heart of yours.”  Constantine paused to take a long drag. “‘Sides, can't use dear old dad here,” he waved at Bruce, “the life’ll get sucked out of him too fast.  He’ll be dead as a doornail before we can find Jason. You on the other hand, have got just enough power that maybe we can find our boy first, and figure out how to end this nightmare before he kills every last one of us.”

“And when we find him, what then?  What can we do to break through to him, when we could not before?”

“Dunno.  I suppose we can try and take apart the machine ourselves.”  Constantine shifted on his feet, tapped the ash from the end of his cigarette.  Dick couldn't normally read him that well -- the man was a master con artist, and he hadn't spent as much time in his presence as Jason had -- but he could tell he was nervous about this.

“A foolhardy plan.  We will be going in blind, not knowing what the intricacies are of such an ancient magic.”  Essence scoffed, and looked down at her hands, balled into fists. “I have not the power to overcome even this blood binding, and if we use what I have left to find the source, I will have even less.”

“Well if you've got any other bright ideas, I'm all ears,”  Constantine retorted.

“Essence,” Bruce interceded, despite the clear exertion it took him to keep upright.  Constantine was right, he wasn't going to last much longer like this, but Bruce was stubborn.  “We can find some other way,” he continued. “There's no guarantee that putting your life further at risk will help us find him.”

“Letting Jason destroy himself, and us with him, is too risky.  We have no time to spare and no other options.” Essence shook her head, and then pulled a dagger from her belt.  “I know a spell that will do what we need. I will do it myself.”

Before Dick could stop her, she drew the dagger across her palm and mumbled an incantation.  The blood in her hand glowed red before dripping onto the ground. Droplets splattered, and a fine network of veins branched out that connected to a node -- some kind of glowing, circular sigil that bloomed outward in the clay dirt -- before spreading further like a growing vine, repeating an alternating pattern of veins and sigils.  It was moving quickly in a single direction, a clear path laid out for them in blood magic.

Essence faltered and tipped forward, and Dick moved to catch her before she could fall.

“Hurry,” she gasped.  “You will have to… nngh… carry me.”

Dick picked her up.  She was surprisingly light, and she pointed at the vinework of sigils pushing forward.  “You can see the path. Go!”

He ran as fast as he could, and unfortunately that meant leaving Bruce behind with Tim and Damian.  Splitting up was risky, but they had little choice.

“Go,” Tim said.  “We’ll follow the path behind you, just get to Jason first.”   _Before the Eye_ , he didn't say it, but it was clear anyway.  Bruce gasped, whether it was in agreement or in protest at being left behind, Dick wasn't sure, but he couldn't wait to clarify.  Bruce would fall too if they didn't find Jason in time.

Constantine followed closely as Dick carried Essence, pursuing the spreading vinework of sigils that led them through the Gotham-like streets of Jason’s nightmare.  Essence had closed her eyes, but he could feel her shallow breathing, and he saw her flicker her eyes open occasionally to take in their surroundings.

The environment was growing less urban, becoming a strange composite of the plane with the enormous trees -- the Eye had called it a _world egg_ \-- and various scenes from Jason’s memories.  Some Dick recognized -- the Acres of All, from the one time Essence had allowed them there when Jason had previously been taken, the dry dusty sands of Qurac where Jason died, and various warehouses and buildings riddled with bullets.  There was blood and bodies everywhere, so many that Dick had to maneuver and step over them as they followed the vinework path.

As they made their way deeper into the nightmare, Dick noticed that fewer and fewer “live” dreamforms moved in the streets.  Instead, the bodies kept piling up. More and more bodies, many of them of Dick himself and the rest of the family. He thought he recognized a few more familiar forms.  Roy. Kory. Even Essence. But most of the bodies were of Jason himself.

Eventually, the only thing they saw moving amidst the piles of bloody corpses was the dreamform Joker.  He was laughing. Constantly laughing, swinging a crowbar down, over and over again onto a mangled corpse.  It was beaten so badly all Dick could see was pulped flesh amidst jutting white bone.

_“Hahahahaha! Hahahaha!”_

There was another crack and another burst of the Joker's laughter.  Dick knew he should have kept moving… he knew he should have ignored the gruesome nightmare because it was only a manifestation…  it wasn’t real, but he instinctively looked anyway. The corpse’s face was now upturned and he could see the skull was caved in, a red and pink marbled mess mixed with the lighter bits of exposed gray matter.  Dick knew who the sickening mess of gore was meant to represent… Jason.

“Bloody _fucking_ hell!”  Constantine paused to double over and retch on the ground.  He pulled himself up and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “Christ, this is vile.  Can't look anymore,” he said tremulously. “We gotta keep going.”

It was easier said than done.  It seemed like the scene repeated itself with every node of the vine they followed, the Joker’s laughter echoing across the cracked sky.

_“Hahaha. Hahahahahahahaaa!”_

“Keep running!  Put your blinders on and keep running!”  Constantine urged.

Dick pressed on, even when they saw the large pale figure of the woman the Eye had identified as Despair.  She stood beside their path, staring with a dead expression in her eyes, her mouth slightly open, and her lips curled back.  She reached her hand out, grazing Dick's shoulder as he passed. He felt a chill pass through him, an icy stab of loneliness and sorrow that had him stumbling.  Was this how Jason felt? Was this how he had been feeling all this time? It was so incredibly painful… to feel so alone and _desperate_.  Even when Dick had been working through his own trauma, he had had Jason and the rest of the family surrounding him, lending support.  But if this was what Jason was feeling… it was utterly devastating. He didn't know Jason had felt so _abandoned_.

“Don’t let that fat wap get to you!  Come on!” Constantine’s guttural shout startled him out of his thoughts.  The Englishman was already several yards ahead of him, waving his arms to get his attention.  Dick collected himself, curling his arms more firmly around Essence and pushing forward.

The ground was becoming more and more uneven, and the vinework path they were following was now sloping downward.  Streams of red blood were collecting around them, channeling in rivulets toward a small valley ahead. Tremors reverberated under their feet, and a sudden quake had Dick falling to his knees.  The cracks around them widened, becoming open chasms filled with molten liquid and heat.

“Is it getting worse?”  Dick maneuvered around a particularly wide gap, hoisting an unresponsive Essence over his shoulder to make the leap.  She was still breathing, but the blood machine must have drained her to the point of unconsciousness. If they didn’t find Jason soon, she would die.

Constantine looked at the open chasms, and then glanced up at the similarly widening cracks in the sky.  “It's definitely worse,” he replied solemnly, “we must be gettin’ close.”

The vinework path continued growing until they reached the foot of the valley, and at the base of the bordering ridge was an opening.  An entrance to a cavern. _Crap_.  Dick mentally steeled himself for what came next.  He didn’t like tight cave-like spaces. Not since Drakar.

It turned out to be exactly what he had feared -- as they passed the threshold, the smaller tunnel of the entrance opened up into a replica of the cavern where Dick had been held captive.  Tall stone columns carved into the sides, pointed stalactites, and an altar in the middle draped with chains. It was the altar where he had been repeatedly _raped_.  He froze, panic seizing his limbs.  His grip on Essence loosened, but before he could drop her, she became suddenly alert.  She gripped his suit and yanked him down to look into her depthless black eyes.

“It. Is. Not. Real,” she commanded.  “You have overcome this. This is what _he_ feared for you, but he has helped you heal.   _Jason_. Think of what he has done for you.”  She gave a final wheeze as her fingers loosened.  She had blacked out again.

“Essence!” Dick refocused on her, her breathing was labored and her pulse racing.  She didn’t respond when Dick gave her a slight shake.

“No!  Essence, stay with me.  We’re almost there!” Dick tried to force himself to run again, but he stumbled.  His knees cracked against the floor, catching himself in a kneel before he dropped Essence.  He coughed, turning his head over his shoulder, but there was a coppery tang on his tongue. When he freed a hand to wipe at his mouth, it came away with blood smeared across the blue of his finger stripes.

“Oh shit.  Not you too.”  Constantine had both his hands up to tug at his hair in distress, the look on his face showing a rare moment of genuine concern.  “It's ‘cause we’re heading straight for it. This blood machine… it's going to suck whatever comes near it dry.”

“Then the sooner we find Jason, the sooner we can take it apart,” he said to Constantine.  “Let's keep going.”

Dick forced himself up again, despite a growing feeling of exhaustion seeping into his limbs.  It wasn't just from carrying Essence. This was bone deep, like everything was being squeezed by a vise so that he had to fight to even expand his chest to take in air.  He was familiar with forcing himself through pain and exhaustion though, and he could do it again now. Jason’s life depended on it.

The vinework pathway continued, the sigil nodes that glowed on the ground were appearing more frequent now.  They were growing larger and more interconnected as well, even rotating in inverted directions against each other, as if they were cogwheels turning in a _machine_.  As they followed another small passage into another even larger cavern, it was clear that the path wasn’t a small network of vines anymore.  It was a part of something bigger. The sigils expanded and covered the entire cavern floor like a giant clockwork of rotating gears, glowing an eerie red glow, and turning in rhythm to a slow, lopsided pulse.

_Badump.  Badump._   _Badump._

A heartbeat.  Growing louder and louder as they got closer.  Dick noted the cavern walls were lined with the enormous splayed rib-bones of some kind of animal, and in the center was an elevated circular platform, surrounded by concentric steps leading up to a small pedestal.  He was too far away to make out the details, but he could tell there was something small and black that lay upon it. The dreamstone. The Black Pearl -- the true form of the Eye.

Dick understood now.   _This was the blood machine._  It wasn’t actually a physical, mechanical construct, but rather a complicated network of interlocking blood sigils fueled by blood and pain.  It was massive, and Dick couldn't even begin to fathom how something like this could have been wrought. It was no wonder it had infected the entire land.  It was no wonder Jason couldn't control it.

Dick set Essence down at the threshold and took a step, looking for signs of Jason or the Eye, and nearly plunged forward when his foot didn't meet sold ground.  It was some kind of sludge made of blood and clay that came up to his thighs. Dick backpedaled, but he felt something grab onto him, curling around his legs and creeping up his waist.  Some kind of tentacle was wrapped around him.

“Ah!”  He yelped, and reached backward.  Constantine appeared and grabbed his arm, pulling him back and mumbling something that sent a jolt through him.  “Nnngh!” he grunted in pain, but it seemed to force the tentacle to release it's hold. Constantine pulled him the rest of the way out of the sludge, and Dick crawled forward back toward the solid ground at the threshold.

“Fuck, we are well beyond screwed,” Constantine panted and wiped at his brow, and then pointed to Dick’s torso, and then himself.

Dick looked down at himself to see he was now covered in the vinework of blood sigils, creeping up his legs and up his torso -- fine glowing red branches and circles, turning with the pulse of the heartbeat that sounded around them.  Constantine was covered likewise, and he pulled up his shirt to glance at his abdomen. The glowing red lines emanated from his bare skin.

“Can you take it apart?”  Dick asked, but judging by the look on Constantine's face, he already knew that he couldn’t.

“Look, I know I’ve got a reputation for pulling rabbits outta me arse, but this is beyond me.  This whole thing…,” he waved at the blood machine around them, “is beyond pretty much _anybody_.  Never seen anything like it.  The skinwalkers might’ve managed to use this thing after a few centuries of fuckin’ themselves up over it, but Jason’s too wet behind the ears.  Our only hope is we can find a way to snap him outta this before the blood machine kills us.”

“Where is Jason?”  Dick found he had to nearly raise his voice to a shout.  The sound of the pulse was growing louder and louder. “I thought you said he'd come here, to the source.”

“He _is_ here.  Look.” Constantine pointed up at the altar, and as if on cue, Dick saw a slight figure climb up from the opposite side of the platform.  It was a boy dressed as Robin -- the Eye, still in it's child-form of Jason. When he reached the top, he turned and half dragged a second blood-covered form behind him.  It was Jason. The _real_ one.

“Jay!”  Dick lunged back into the sludge, fighting his way toward the platform, but he was once again snagged by something.  Dark tentacles shot up, wrapping around his legs, his wrists, his waist…. He struggled, panicked. He couldn't get free.  “Jason! Oh god, Jay! Wake up! Please,” he yelled, but Jason didn't seem to hear him.

A whirl of motion shot forward from behind him, and Constantine was suddenly up on the platform with the Eye and Jason.  He grabbed Jason by the shoulders and began shaking him wildly. The Eye shoved him away, and some kind of argument ensued.  The pulsing around them was thunderingly loud now, and Dick couldn't hear what they were shouting above the din in his ears. All the while Dick could see Jason, curled into himself in a fetal position, his hands over his head, mouth open in a scream of terror and pain.

“Jay!  Jason, please!”  Dick shouted again, but Jason still didn't respond.  He was too caught up in the nightmare, blinded and deafened by terror and pain.

Dick pulled uselessly at the tentacles that curled around him, realizing that as he did so, there was a gush of liquid that began to flood around him.  It was suddenly up to his waist and quickly rising. It was thicker than water, and the smell… like blood. The cavern was flooding with a torrent of blood!  He glanced behind him to see Essence was still propped at the threshold, unconscious, but she would be submerged in blood soon at this rate. In front of him on the platform, Jason was still screaming, his hands over his ears.  

He continued to struggle, screaming at Jason, until the flood of blood surged again up to his neck.  He couldn't see Essence anymore. _Oh god._  They were going to drown in blood.

On the platform now, the argument seemed to have ended, Constantine was quickly scrawling something, and Jason was sitting on his haunches with the Eye holding his hand.  A fourth figure had also appeared out of nowhere -- the man the Eye had called Glory. He stood before Jason, holding something out in his hand. It was dark and metallic -- a gun -- he was holding it by the barrel, offering the grip.  Jason just stared at it, tears streaming down his face.

Constantine finished whatever it was he was doing, and grabbed the gun, putting it into Jason’s hand.  Jason held it, but when he didn’t make any further move, Constantine grabbed his hand again, raising it so that Jason held the gun against his temple.

“No!”  Dick shouted.  “No. Oh god, no Jay, don't do it!”  His voice choked on a sob, his vision blurring in tears.  It couldn't be… but they were. They were pushing Jason to kill himself.  

“Constantine, you traitor!”  Dick shouted again, and then finally, Jason looked at him.  Looked him straight in the eye, his face full of sorrow and regret.  He said something that Dick couldn't hear, and he couldn't quite make out reading the movement of his lips, and then Jason closed his eyes.

“No. Don’t do it,” he screamed at the top of his lungs.  “Nooooo!” He saw what Jason was going to do, and he couldn't stop it.  His heart broke. It felt like it was being ripped out of his chest. It felt like the whole world was imploding around him as he saw Jason’s finger twitch on the trigger.  And then…

_Bang._

It was like an explosion went off, and there was a split second where Dick saw a spray of blood as Jason’s head jerked sideways with the gunshot, before Dick himself was blasted backwards.  The force threw him out of the neck-deep blood and slammed him against the cavern wall, knocking the wind out of him and before he fell to the ground. The blood was receding, leaving the sigil covered cavern floor visible again, but everything was shaking, like an earthquake.  The sigils had stopped turning like clockwork gears, and now they were vibrating and _unraveling_.  The blood machine was breaking apart, and lines from the red glowing sigils spiraled out in all directions, bunching up on the ground like tangled string.  

There was a coughing and spluttering beside him, and he looked over to see Essence, her pale locks dripping with red blood and sludge.  She pushed herself up into a sitting position and looked around frantically until her eyes locked onto the platform in front of them. Dick turned to look back as well.  The man, Glory, was gone, but Constantine and the Eye were cradling something between them. Jason. It was Jason’s body.

Dick lunged forward into the sludge again, trying to reach the platform, but time seemed to slow.  Around them, one by one, the glow of the unraveling sigils began to flicker in and out, the flashing causing the scene to take on an unnatural stop-motion effect as the lights blinked on and off by the second.

The red glow of lights blinked out, shrouding them in darkness.

The red glow of lights blinked on, and in between the seconds two new figures had appeared on the platform.  It was the Lord Dream and the Corinthian.

The lights blinked out.

The lights linked on.  The Corinthian reached out to gather Jason in his arms.

The lights blinked out.  The shaking stopped. The sudden silence was deafening.

The lights blinked on.  Jason was gone. The Corinthian, and the Eye were also gone.  Only Dream and Constantine were left on the platform.

The lights blinked out and stayed out.

“Jason!  Jason!” Dick shouted into the darkness as he continued to trudge through the sludge toward the platform.  

He touched something hard, the first step leading upward, and then he heard a voice, almost whispering in his ear:  “Sleep.”

He blacked out.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the cliffhanger. Let me know what you think. Comments and kudos are most welcome!


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * Note this chapter starts in parallel to the previous one, leading up to the scene in the cave. So some of this happens before the end of the last chapter, from Jason's perspective. 
>   * This week got so busy! I'm not as far along with the ending as I thought I would be by this point in the week, but I figured I'd post the next chapter so you wouldn't have to wait too long, and as motivation for me to finish this thing :) 
> 


~~~~~ Jason ~~~~~  

He was running.  For how long and why… he wasn’t sure.  There was blood on his hands. Probably his own.   _Probably_.  He wasn’t sure where he was, other than it looked vaguely like Gotham, but he couldn't remember what he was doing here.  All he knew was that he _hurt_.  Pain.  Everywhere and everything.  And there was so much blood and so many bodies -- of himself, and of Bruce and Dick, Tim, Damian… even Essence… and innocent people he didn’t know.  All dead. Had he killed them? Had he shot them in a psychotic homicidal outburst? Was that what was happening now? He looked around, but he couldn't see anything but red….

The Red Hood.  Himself. Every time he saw him, he was filled with an indescribable hate-filled rage.  He was murdering people, and no matter how many times he shot the fucker, he kept showing up again.  Over and over again, he emptied his clip into the bastard -- blasted off his head, or fired a slew of lead into his chest until the Red Hood collapsed on the ground. Over and over again, he felt the bullets impact himself. Over and over again, he felt excruciating agony like he was dying, only to get back up and do it all over again.  

Something niggled in the back of his mind.  He knew something wasn’t right -- that maybe this wasn't quite possible and there was something horribly wrong going on, but he couldn’t focus.  Couldn’t pause long enough to figure out what exactly was wrong. Everything just kept _hurting_ , and he didn’t know how to make it stop.  The worst part was he kept hearing laughter -- the endless laughter of the _Joker_.  

_Hahaha!  Hahahahahahahahahaaaaa!_

He was everywhere, and no matter what Jason did, he couldn’t escape the Joker for long.  He shot at the hysterical clown whenever he appeared, but the bullets never seemed to hit true, and he would watch helplessly as the grotesque reenactment of his death played out before him.  The Joker would beat his younger self into an unrecognizable bloody mess, and Jason could feel every impact of the crowbar as it came down -- felt every grisly crack of breaking bone, every blunt stab of the forked crowbar claw digging into his flesh, ripping him open… exposing him… raw flesh and naked fear….  Jason would watch, unable to stop it, as if it were some kind of repeating horror movie scene, until the whole thing ended in a fiery explosion. Then be would run in terror from his own slaughter. Running from the neverending laughter.

_Haha!  Hahahaaaaa!_

Something barrelled into him from the side, and he was suddenly on his back, his arms and legs pinned down by a blur of white, boney appendages.  A multitude of glinting black eyes filled his vision and sawtoothed legs tore at his clothes, hands thrust under the hem of his shirt, pushing past the waistband of his pants to caress his flaccid cock.

“No!”  He kicked and screamed, flailed with every ounce of energy he had, and he managed to break the spider’s hold.  He was running again, and the next thing he knew, he was saw the enormous trees again, as well as the cracks in the ground and the sky that pervaded the entire landscape.  There was a river of blood, and then a bright, searing hot light that felt like it would burn him away.

It was so bright it seemed to obliterate all his senses, and when his vision cleared again, his throat felt raw and tight.  He had been screaming, but whatever he had seen or remembered in that bright flash of light was fading away. He looked around, and saw he was crouched in a jumbled conglomeration of incongruous settings again.  The abandoned streets of Gotham were fractured by the tree roots, the enormous trees that broke the sky lined the horizon. Buildings had sank into open sulfuric pools, and dusty sands blew into his eyes.

A flicker of movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention, and he turned to see the strange _spectacled man_ again -- the one in antiquated morning dress -- strolling across the landscape, untouched and unbothered by the chaos that surrounded him.  Jason focused on him, trying to find some semblance of order and consistency in the jumbled mess of his mind. The spectacled man didn't acknowledge him, never even looked his way at all, but he seemed to be the only thing that was singular and unchanging amidst the shifting scene around him.  He walked with purpose, as if he were going somewhere and had something to do. Everything felt less chaotic when Jason kept his eyes on the man. No Red Hoods or Jokers appeared, and the alternating rage and panicked fear that had plagued him earlier subsided. Instinctively, Jason followed him, desperate for relief from the confusion and pain.

Though the man wasn’t going very fast, Jason struggled to keep up.  He was bleeding. A lot. Every step he took sent spikes of pain through his entire frame.  Every breath was a labored wet rattle. Jason stumbled from crumbling walls to broken lampposts, from towering tree roots to rocky boulders, finding a handhold wherever he could.   Falling to his hands and knees if he had to crawl, until he had to pull himself up again to jump across open chasms of hot molten pools.

It took him longer than it normally would have to notice it, but eventually he realized he was being followed.  A swirl of red, green and yellow was darting around behind him. Jason paused momentarily to lean against a brick wall by an alleyway, catching his breath and watching out of the corner of his eye until the stalker flitted into a hiding place close enough to grab.  Jason pounced, grabbing the figure and shoving a gun into its face.

He flinched back and let go as soon as he saw who it was.  It was himself, as a young boy, dressed as Robin. He wasn’t wearing a mask, and wide teal blue eyes stared past the barrel of the Glock in his face and back at Jason, shock and awe transparent in his features.  

Jason backed away, inexplicable fear overwhelming him again, and he turned quickly to continue staggering after the spectacled man.

His Robin-self followed warily, and then began to pace him abreast.  “Do you know who that is,” he asked, “that guy you’re following?”

“No,” Jason rasped.

The Robin-self looked puzzled at that.  “He’s some kind of scar,” he said, “but it's almost like it's keeping you from being completely torn apart, isn't he?”

Jason had no idea what his Robin-self was talking about.  It was all he could do to stay focused on the spectacled man.  He couldn't get his legs to move right, the gash on his thigh felt hot and wet with fresh blood.  Jason pushed himself to move faster, but the spectacled man kept walking. Jason was losing ground.  

“Leave me alone!”  He pushed his Robin-self away, and gathered a small burst of energy to make a last ditch effort to catch up to the mysterious man.

“Jason, I need to tell you something….”  His Robin-self kept following him.

“Go away!”  This time it came out more like a sob.  He didn’t want to talk to himself. He didn’t want to face the boy he used to be.  It was too painful… it _hurt_ , just like everything else.

“Jason.”  A hand reached out and grabbed him, and this time he turned back to see not his Robin-self, but the Corinthian.  Or no… it _looked_ like the Corinthian, but somehow Jason knew it wasn’t really him.

“No!”  His fear spiralled and he backed away, pulling his guns and firing off several shots.  He hit the fake-Corinthian square in the chest. “You’re not him! You’re not real!”

“Okay… let's try something else.”  The fake-Corinthian was completely unaffected by the bullets.  Instead he twisted and grew, morphing into something else… something larger.  Golden brown fur with dark circular geometric patches patterned on its coat. The fake-Corinthian had become an enormous dog-like form with large glowing eyes.

Memory clicked, and Jason recognized it.  He had seen it in his dreams. “You’re the coyote.”

“You remember now?  Good, I need to talk to you.”  The coyote continued to trot slowly beside him, nudging him softly with its nose.  His mouth didn’t move as it spoke, but it somehow produced a deep gravelly voice anyway.  “You’re right, I’m not the Corinthian, but I have a message from him.”

“You talked to C?”  Jason paused.

“Yes.  Jason, listen… you’re trapped in a nightmare, and you need to wake up or your family will die.”

A nightmare?  That… didn't feel quite right.  This wasn't the true Nightmare. If it was, the Corinthian would have found him by now.  If it was a true Nightmare, his family wouldn't be in any real danger.

And yet… there was definitely something _wrong_.  He head didn't seem to be working right.  He kept remembering things that didn't seem real.  His mind kept cycling through flitting images of Dream and the Palace, and Death's warm smile.  He remembered the Corinthian putting his arms around him to hold him close. He could remembered a piece of paper with pictures on it, but then everything would start to go fuzzy with pain.  He felt a coldness, and a dark rage that completely enveloped him, and then depthless agony that would stop the memories short.

Unbidden, his mind reached out for something to anchor him.  Something familiar. Something that didn't hurt.

_Dick.  His smile, his warm lips as they pressed against Jason's in a kiss.  Their fingers intertwined as they made love, his hips thrusting, a feeling of hot pleasure and warmth.  He felt safe. He felt loved…. But then the image morphed. Dick, as Batman, dragging him into Arkham Asylum.  Another Batman, Bruce, throwing a batarang at his neck. Tim’s bloody and battered form, and Damian bleeding from a gunshot wound in an alleyway.  Shot by Jason’s own hand. Blood. So much blood._

He clutched his head and screamed.  Oh god. Why had he done those things?  Why had he gone off the deep end like that?  Images of that damned piece of paper flashed through his mind eye again.   _Death, Dream, and the Corinthian looking at him sternly.  A feeling of dread. He hadn't wanted to do any of it. Not really.  Deep down, he didn't want to, but he had to…._

Jason shook his head, trying to pull himself out of the quagmire of memories.  He pinched the dripping wound on his leg, using the physical pain to jolt his head clear momentarily.  He had to stop this, whatever was happening in his head. He needed to focus somehow… he looked for the spectacles man again, and saw him up ahead.  The figure was quickly outpacing him, and he lost sight of him as the man turned around a corner. The panic and fear began grow once more, and he dropped to his knees as it threatened to overtake him again.  He clutched his head, a splitting headache begun was coming on fast and his heart was beating furiously.

“Jason….”

There were hands on his back suddenly, and he jerked away.  He peaked back over his shoulder to see the coyote had turned back into his Robin-self.

“Stop it,” Jason snapped.  “Why do you keep looking like that?  Like me?”

“It's easier for me to see you this way.”

“Said the wolf to Little Red Riding Hood right before he ate her.”  It came out much less caustic than Jason had been intending, because he punctuated it with a coughing fit that had him throwing up blood.  He wiped his mouth shakily with his hand, before trying to lift himself up to get away.

The Robin-self kept hovering, his face looking sympathetic and concerned.  It was Jason’s own face, albeit younger, but it was extremely unnerving. He didn’t like it at all.  He tried again to get up, but failed, so he crawled. Jason was _not_ above crawling.

“Okay, I won’t touch you… but, wow.”  His Robin-self leaned in again with his hand inches away from his head, but refrained from making actual contact.  “Your family don't get you at all.” His Robin-self looked sincere. Sad. Disappointed.

“No.  They really don't,” was all Jason could say.

“They think this is too much for you, and it is, but holy shit, you're still fighting.”  The Robin-self almost looked proud. “I was right about you.”

“Who the hell are you?”  Jason managed to gasp. He thought maybe he should be fighting whatever this thing was that was talking to him -- to demand some answers, but he felt oddly familiar.  Maybe because the thing was wearing his face. Plus the he couldn’t put up much of a fight even if he wanted to. The pain in his head was growing again, and he just knew pretty soon he was going to watch himself die again, and he couldn't bear the thought of it.  He just wanted it to end. Maybe permanently. He stopped and put his face in his hands to collect himself.

He felt the Robin-self hovering next to him again as he spoke.  “I'm the Eye of the Black Pearl. A dreamstone of the Lord Master.”

“You don't look like a stone.”  Jason winced. Talking hurt, but it also seemed to help him stay grounded, now that he couldn't see the spectacled man anymore.

“No.  I'm a projection of the stone,” the Robin-self responded.  “I guess… I'm not really real.” The boy actually looked somewhat dejected.  “Jason, focus for a second, listen to me --.”

“No.  You're real!”  Jason cut him off.  He held onto it, because for some reason, thinking about it helped clear the mud in his head.  He reached out his hands and grabbed the Robin-self’s shoulders. The boy looked back at him, slightly surprised as Jason continued, “The people that live in the Dreaming are real, just not in the material world.  But you're _here_ somehow, in the material world, and that means….”  It was suddenly making sense, the pieces clicking together in this brief moment of clarity.  “We're not in the Dreaming, but… something's forcing this nightmare, _my nightmare_ , into reality.”  

“Yes!” The Robin-self exclaimed.  “Your family are in deep shit, Jason.  They're being drained by the blood machine, and… and _you’re_ doing this Jason.  You. The blood machine is _twisting_ you, and you have to stop before the blood machine kills them.”

“Me?  No,” Jason shook his head.  “I don't want to hurt them… I wouldn't.  Not anymore.”

“You _are_ hurting them, but it's not your fault.  You’ve taken over the mechanism somehow, but you can't control this,” the Robin-self waved his arms around.  “This is too big for you. You've got the power, but you're… _damaged_ , and the blood machine will force everything you fear to the surface in order to get the blood it needs to keep running.”

The Robin-self reached up hesitantly, and when Jason didn’t react, he took Jason’s hands in his own.  His eyes were earnest, and his voice gentle and pleading. “You have to _end the nightmare_ , Jason.  So that we can stop the blood machine before it kills your family.  You have to end the nightmare like the Corinthian taught you.”

Jason snatched his hands away.  “You mean…?” He couldn't say it, but he knew what that meant.  He remembered what the Corinthian taught him, his words echoed clearly in his mind --

 _“There aren’t a lot of ways people can escape the nightmare.  You can let the Nightmare kill you, or you can kill_ **_yourself_** _.”_

Jason allowed the memory to sink in, and then he took stock of himself.  He was bleeding, some of his wounds were gunshot wounds to the chest -- they had been reflected back at himself when he had attacked his doubles.  If it was real, it should have been fatal, but the nightmare hadn't allowed him to die. This nightmare wouldn't kill him apparently, and that meant that if he wanted to wake up, he would have to choose the other option -- he would have to kill himself.

“I can't,” Jason bit back a sob.  He wasn't sure he could do it. He never could before.  The Corinthian had always helped him, and besides… this wasn't a normal nightmare.  This was a nightmare come to life in the physical world.

“Will I really wake up?”  Jason asked his Robin-self, trepidation creeping into his voice.  “Or is it going to be real, if I take my own life here?”

“I don't know,” he replied.  “If you use a real clip, then that's definitely going to be real, but if you use a gun you made in this nightmare… then you might be able to control it.  Just shock your system enough to truly wake from this nightmare, so that the Lord Dreaming can get through. But the line between dreaming and waking isn't clear here.  It might depend on how much you want it -- how much you want to live or die.”

Did he want to die?  Jason wasn’t sure he knew the answer. He thought he had wanted it earlier, when he had sought for the endless pain to stop….  And then an image of Bruce and Essence from earlier flashed through his mind. He had felt it in them. Some kind of magic that dragged at their life force.  It was killing them. _Jason_ was killing them, and to stop it, Jason had to kill himself.

He had to do it.  He would do it to save the others, but did he want to come out of it on the other side alive, if all he would be stepping back into was more pain?

“Where’s C?  Why isn't he here?”  Jason desperately wanted his guidance and his strength --  to shield him from this unrelenting hell of the nightmare. He was lost here, and the Corinthian had always made him feel safe.  He had always held everything at bay, so that his fears were tolerable, so that they could be overcome… or if not, so that Jason could escape.

“He tried Jason.  He wants to come, but he and the Lord Dream are being kept out.”  His Robin-self reached out again, but Jason pulled away. The boy halted his attempt at contact, but kept talking, “Jason, your mind is extremely fragile.  If they force their way in… I think they could break you. The Corinthian has been trying to get you to break yourself out. You've got to do this. Bruce and Essence won’t make it much longer, and the others are already being poisoned by the blood machine.”

That Jason believed.  He could feel the wrongness of the current running through the land.  It was what he had felt when John had first cut him. He had felt it when he had unwittingly ripped the skinwalkers apart.  He hadn't want to do it, but the current of power had forced him to do it anyway, and now the same thing threatened his family.  He needed to end this, but he had to be sure. If he failed to wake up on the other side, he had to make sure this _blood machine_ didn't continue without him or else the others would surely die.  He had to destroy the blood machine at its source.

“Take me to it.”  He wasn't able to control the shaking in his voice as he said his next words.  “I’ll do it. I’ll kill myself, but I'm going to take the fucking blood machine with me.”

//////////////////////////////

He wasn’t sure what happened next.  He must have lost himself to the nightmare again, because all he could only vaguely remember was stumbling through the landscape with his Robin-self leading him by the hand.  He was delirious with fear and pain, and though he tried to keep his eyes closed, every time he reopened them everything seemed to be worse.

Eventually he felt himself being tugged into a dark enclosed space, like a cave or a tunnel, and he could see red glowing sigils lining the floor and walls.  He saw bones, and the dirt beneath him squelched and suctioned his soles with every staggering step. There was a loud repeating thump that seemed to reverberate through his bones with every beat.  It was a heartbeat, and Jason could feel the current of power rise and flow, running _through_ him with each pulse.

“Where are we?”  Jason stammered out as he fell to his knees on the ground.  He couldn’t walk anymore. The heartbeat was intensifying, and with it came another wave of bone-jarring pain.

“We’re in the blood machine,” his Robin-self replied and tugged on his arm, trying to pull him up.  “We need to get to the core. It's really close.”

The pumping blood, the bones, and the twisting interlocked sigils… it was almost as if it were moving.  Jason turned back to his Robin-self and asked, “this place… it's alive?”

“No, not anymore.  It was built using a… a body, but it's just a machine now.”

The next he knew, he was crawling up a short distance of stone stairs onto some kind of circular platform.  His limbs felt heavy, and the thumping pulse was all but obliterating his senses. He screwed his eyes shut and covered his ears, trying to block it out, but it didn’t stop the jarring waves of pain that came with each crest of the current he felt.  Someone was touching him, probably his Robin-self trying to get his attention, but Jason shrank away. He didn’t want to be touched… it hurt. It _burned_.

And then someone was shaking him.  Hard. He opened his eyes to see John had appeared from somewhere, and he was shouting in his face.  Jason tried to pull away again. He couldn’t make out what John was saying over the loud pulse, and the hands on his shoulders felt like fire.  He was suddenly released and Jason huddled into himself again.

He stayed like that, sobbing and screaming, until gradually, the pulsing seemed to subside enough that he could make out voices.

“Where the bloody hell did _he_ come from?”  It was John.

“I… I don’t know.  He’s a dreamform manifested from Jason,” he heard his Robin-self reply, “but when he’s around, Jason gets more focused.  Jason, can you hear me?”

“Y-- yeah,” he managed to croak out, and he opened his eyes to see that the spectacled man Jason had been following earlier had joined them.  He was holding something, a scrap of paper, and with his other hand he was pointing to a stone pedestal beside them. Jason had been too overwhelmed earlier to notice it, but now he could see that there was a small round object atop it.  It was a dark sphere, a little smaller than a golfball, and there was some sort of sigil engraved on it. It looked familiar, and Jason realized what he was looking at -- the dreamstone, the Eye of the Black Pearl. This was the true form of his Robin-self standing beside him.

Jason looked back at the spectacled man, he hadn’t said anything, but he held out the scrap of paper.  Another sigil was on it, one that Jason recognized. It was one of the spells that John had taught him -- the one he used to get out of the magical binds.  It had cost him a _secret_. 

The spectacled man pointed again at the dreamstone, and Jason realized what this all meant.  He turned back to the others, “John, draw the sigil. Robin….”

Jason dragged himself forward and took his Robin-self’s hand, looking into the mirror of his own teal blue eyes in the young boy.  Talking hurt, and he could still feel the pulsing current running through him… twisting him, but he needed to end this, and they needed to do this together.  

“You need to tell me what this is,” Jason said.  “This blood machine uses a _body,_ but whose is it?  You know, and that’s the secret that will break this machine.”

“That ain’t gonna be enough,” John piped in.  “This machine’s massive. It's tangled up in this entire land.  One secret, no matter how deep and fucked up, is not gonna have enough power!”

“It will,” Jason countered.  He wasn’t sure how he knew, but he did.  “If I end the nightmare at the same time, it will break.  I know it will. John, draw the sigil.”

“This is a bloody terrible idea,” John protested, but began scribbling the sigil anyway.

The spectacled man still stood in front of him.  The scrap of paper was tucked away at some point, and was now replaced with a gun.  The man held it out, and Jason stared at it, filled with desperation and dread. He didn’t want to do this.  He was terrified, but he didn’t know what else to do.

John finished drawing the sigil and turned back to the Robin-self, and shouted, “Whatever you’re gonna confess, better do it now!”

“This… this is my fault,” his Robin-self started with a tearful stutter, “but I never meant for this to become what it is.  I built the first sigils because I thought they were my friends, before they became skinwalkers. Brother Wolf was their god, and he was like my father, but he wouldn’t let me do what I wanted.  He wouldn’t let me be _free_.  So I built a trap for him so I could escape, but it was a trick.  The skinwalkers turned it against me. And when Brother Wolf came to rescue me, they sacrificed him to make the machine.  It was my fault he died. I created the machine, and now I _am_ the blood machine.”

The sigil John had drawn was glowing red hot.  The walls shook, a flood blood began pouring in around them.  And then Jason heard it. A shout.

“No!  No. Oh god, no Jay, don't do it!”  It was Dick, and he was trapped in the blood machine.  Jason could feel it. It was draining him away and feeding back into Jason himself.  He felt Essence, and Bruce too. They were so faint. They were dying, the blood machine was sucking the last of their life away.  He needed to stop the machine and end the nightmare, _now_.  

John was moving already -- he grabbed the gun from the spectacled man’s hand and pressed it into Jason’s own, pulling his hand up so the barrel rested against his temple.  “Wake the fuck up Jason, but remember, _Dum spiro spero._  You’re alive! You’re still fucking breathing.  You still have hope! Now do it!”

“Constantine, you traitor! No. Don’t do it.”  Dick’s desperate shouts echoed up to the platform, and Jason turned to look at him.  In a matter of seconds, Dick would drown in a torrent of blood. Dick would die. His whole family would die if he didn’t do this.

Jason felt the sigil on the ground vibrating with the truth his Robin-self had just spilled.  It was activated, but it wasn’t enough. The blood machine wouldn’t break until he ended the nightmare.  Jason felt the weight of the gun in his hands. It felt so real….

He needed to break the nightmare.  He needed to remind himself that he was alive.  

“I love you,” Jason said as he looked back at Dick.  And then he closed his eyes, and shouted, “Dum spiro spero,” tightening his grip on the gun.  “I’m still fucking breathing! I’m alive!”

He pulled the trigger.

_Bang._

//////////////////////////////

Fire.  It felt like being engulfed in a burning, white hot fire, and everything in him was being blasted away until there was only light.  Just a bright white light.

“Jason… open your eyes,” a soft feminine voice cooed in his ear.  Gentle hands were on his back. They were warm, rubbing small circles.  Normally Jason didn’t like to be touched like this, but the hands were oddly comforting.  Soothing. He leaned into the hands.

“Come on, kiddo,” the voice said again.  “Jason, it's me. Open your eyes.”

He blinked his eyes open slowly, and saw a pale woman, darkly rimmed eyes and black hair, looking down at him with a smile.  Death.

Oh.

Jason sat up from where he had been curled on the ground, and found he was sitting on soft grass.  There were neatly trimmed hedges, stone pathways, and tall cypress trees all around. It was a garden.  An oddly familiar garden.

“Where are we?”  Jason asked. He rolled to his side, trying to get his feet under him to stand, and the Corinthian appeared out of nowhere and was suddenly by his side, pulling him up into a tight embrace.  

“Jason, we were worried about you,” the Corinthian said, his arms strong and firm around him, and Jason allowed himself to sink into the hug.  He let the Corinthian support his weight. It made him feel safe.

“Do you remember what happened, Jason?”  Another voice said from behind him. It was Dream, and standing beside him was another smaller figure -- a young boy dressed as Robin.  It was his Robin-self.

Images rushed back into his head, and he recalled the round platform amidst the sigils that made up the blood machine.  The spectacled man had given him a gun, and John had helped him press it to his temple. And he remembered seeing Dick, drowning in a flood of blood, and feeling the life of the others draining away….

“Oh shit!” Jason stepped back from the Corinthian and toward Dream.  “What happened to my family? Are they safe?”

“You did it Jason.”  It was his Robin-self who spoke, his eyes were shining and wet with emotion.  “You broke out of your nightmare, and you took apart the blood machine.” The boy held up something in his hand.  It was a small black sphere with a sigil carved on it -- the Black Pearl. “You freed me, Jason. I’m no longer trapped, and your family are safe.”

“Oh.  Good, that’s good.”  Jason felt a confusing mix of relief and trepidation.  His family was safe… but what did that mean for him?

“So, am I dead?  Why am I here?” Jason looked down at himself, and though his clothes were torn and bloody, he no longer felt the excruciating pain and terror that had torn him apart while he was trapped in his own nightmare.  Everything felt somewhat _hyperreal_ however, like it often did in the Dreaming, but that didn't necessarily mean one thing or the other.  He honestly didn’t know if he was alive or dead. He was conscious, he felt real and substantive, but he had been all those things too when he was dead during his time _in between_.

“Well,” Death hooked an around his, “funny you ask about being dead, because this is one of the few times I’m a little unsure.  It's a little fuzzy with you shooting yourself in the head while both in a nightmare and the waking.”

She led him a few steps onto a stone path that turned around a tall hedge, and the others -- Dream, the Corinthian, and his Robin-self -- followed.  The path began to diverge in two, one leading down toward a crystal clear reflecting pool in the distance, the other into what looked like the entrance to a hedge maze.  At the fork of the path stood a cloaked figure. A man holding an enormous book, with a chain running from it's binding to his wrist. He loomed dark and foreboding as he beckoned Jason forward.

“This is where it all started, remember?” Death was still gently holding his arm beside him.  She seemed somewhat sad, nostalgic even. “In my brother’s garden. The garden of Destiny.”

Jason didn't move.  Just stood stock still and fearful.  He hadn't actually seen Destiny since their first meeting so many years ago -- when Death had brought him here, and introduced her brother along with the page that had fallen from Destiny’s book.  When they had first brought Jason hear to discuss the bargain that steered him away from afterlife and back to the land of the living. The bargain that irrevocably changed and _damaged_ him.

“Come forward, child,” Destiny waved him closer.  His voice was just as Jason remembered, quiet, calm, and distant.  Not unkind, but not warm either. “You stand here again in my garden,” he continued.  “The first time you were given a choice, and you chose to sacrifice in order to serve a purpose for the greater good.  As my sister has spoken, this is where it started, and now you must choose again on whether this is also where it shall _end_.”

Where it had all started indeed... but that wasn’t quite right.  This was where Jason had been first given a choice, but there was more to it than that.  He was given a choice in the first place because he had something the Endless needed. He had an ability -- a power -- that he still didn’t fully understand, and the root of it was there even before he died.  He had first executed the purification by mimicking Talia, even before he was taken in by Bruce.

That was the root of it -- his ability to purify.  How he was able to do it was the question that no one seemed to have an answer to.  His mind jumped back to the nightmare he had just escaped, and he remembered how his memories, his choices, and all the horrific things in his life had tormented him, except for one thing -- the strange man dressed in antiquated garb wearing the spectacles.  He had been a singular and unchanging focal point amidst the chaos. He had allowed Jason brief moments of clarity, and in the end, he had been the one to offer Jason the gun. Jason had never seen him before in his life -- he had no memories attached to him.  Nothing. He needed to know who or what he was.

“No, this isn’t where it all started.  I want to see him,” Jason found himself saying.

“Who?”  Dream asked.

“The man who gave me the gun.”  Jason held his hand out toward his Robin-self, indicating the dreamstone the boy held in his hand.  Jason was acting completely on instinct, he somehow knew he needed the Black Pearl to summon him….

“Jason, I don’t think this is a good idea,” his Robin-self argued, but handed over the dreamstone anyway.  Jason noted that his Robin-self was in fact handing over his true form -- the Black Pearl -- and it registered in Jason’s mind that this was significant.  The dreamstone _trusted_ him.

“Jason,” it was Dream this time, his brow furrowed in concern, “I agree, this is not wise.”

“No,” Destiny interrupted.  “Let him continue. This is part of the choice he will make.”  He trailed his fingers along the open page in his book. Jason couldn’t see what was written on it from where he was standing, but he knew Destiny already knew what would happen.  Jason just had to follow through.

He held the stone in his palm.  It felt warm, buzzing faintly with incredible power, and without even thinking, the words came tumbling out of his mouth.  “Glory, of the First Circle, my name is Jason Todd. I hold the Black Pearl, a dreamstone of the Lord Dreaming, and I carry a _scar_ by your hand.  I call you. Will you speak with me?”

A few beats of silence where nothing happened, and then there was something like a gentle breeze.  A wind that seemed to blow the scene of the garden away around them. The stone pathway, the hedge maze, and the reflecting pool in the distance were gone, only to be replaced with a rocky floor.  There were dilapidated structures all around, fallen to the ruins of time, and above them a dark celestial sky, filled with distant swirling galaxies and swathes of cloudy interstellar light and color.

A man stood before them -- the man Jason had seen in his waking nightmare -- dressed in the same brocade vest and morning jacket, gray-white hair with mutton chops.  He looked over the edge of his spectacles as he eyed Jason discerningly.

“You’re quite bold, young man,” he said.  “Most mortals wouldn’t dare do what you’ve done, let  alone call upon me directly.”

“Who are you?”  Jason tried to keep his voice neutral.  He felt a strange combination of awe and terror now that the man, not just a dreamform of him, was standing before him.

“You already know who I am,” the man replied.  “You did call me, did you not? I am the one you called Glory.”

“Yes… but that’s not what I meant.”  Jason struggled to find words. He didn’t know why he had called this man.  He just felt an overwhelming urge to, as if he were acting on some kind of compulsion.  “You marked me somehow, but I don’t know why. I don’t remember you, but you were there, in my nightmare.  How do I know you?”

The man simply gave a harumph, and continued looking over his rims at Jason.  “To put it simply, you -- as human mortal Jason Todd -- do not know me at all, though _I_ recognize _you_ , old soul.  I recognize that pain and all those scars.  Far too many scars. And this latest foolishness has bought you quite a few more.”

Glory raised a hand and snapped his fingers, and the scene around them abruptly changed again.  Instead of the expanse of darkness and stars, they were now standing somewhere Jason recognized.  Or at least he thought he did. They were amidst the land of enormous trees again, the ones that pushed up from the ground until the tops of their branches pressed cracks into the sky.

“Look familiar?”  The man raised a hand and gestured around.  “Less interstellar but no less cosmic.”

It looked like the place the spider woman had taken Jason to except, like in his recent nightmare, it was slightly different. The world he had seen with the spider was nearly dead, but the trees here had foliage -- a lush canopy of green leaves -- and there was _life_ here.  He could hear and feel a low pulse… like the beating of a heart.

“W-- what is this place?”  A painful yearning was creeping into Jason’s senses… a mix of incredible unexplained sadness and guilt.

“The faerie call it a _mundane egg_ \-- a world egg -- the cradle from which a world is born.”  Glory arched a brow, studying Jason for a reaction.

“This place… it's not the same as what I saw before,” Jason surmised.  “It’s not a memory is it?”

“Frankly,” Glory mused, “I’m quite surprised you’re even able to call this up, but I suppose this scar runs deepest.  It's clear enough to those who know how to see it -- like a weaver of worlds, for example. You met the last of them in recent memory.  She saw it on you, and tried to use it for her own ends.”

Jason knew he could only mean the spider  woman, and she had indeed nearly killed him over whatever power he had in him.  “What does this scar have to do with this _world egg_?  Why did you mark me?”

“Why, you ask?  One of the reasons the Council was formed in the first place.  There had to be limits. There had to be boundaries. And you were one of the early casualties of there not having been any rules.  As a result, boundaries between dimensions were strengthened, consequences for destroying worlds were defined.”

Glory had answered his question without really saying much.  It still didn't explain how exactly Jason, in one form or another, had been involved.  “Something happened to me here.” Jason knew it. He could feel it, deeper than in his bones… in his soul.  “Not me as I am now, but _before_.  I died here once, didn’t I?”

“Yes, indeed.  Something happened, and reparations were made. _That_ is why you bear the scar by my hand.”  Glory stepped closer, and tapped Jason’s chest to emphasize.  “It is merely a certain _quality of light_ that manifests differently with each life, but it is always there.”

“You… put me back together with this… scar?”

“You’ve been putting _yourself_ back together.  I simply gave you a form of redress so that perhaps one day you could assuage the guilt you inflict upon yourself.  Funny now that you should be here. You _succeeded_ this time, but only because you are still so scarred and damaged -- still so full of guilt and self-incrimination that you’re willing to sacrifice your soul _again_.  Perhaps it's finally time to let go.”

“What happened?” Jason asked, still confused.  “What did I do?”

“All can be revealed, but there are rules.  You can come with me, but not while still in mortal state.”  Glory gestured toward Death. She was standing beside Jason, silent, but she placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, stroking him gently.

“You mean I’d have to choose to end this life?”  Jason glanced back and forth between Glory and Death.  “I’d have to choose Death if I want answers?”

Glory nodded.  “You know well enough by now, child, that Death’s embrace opens more doors than it closes.  You can choose Death’s gift, and you can leave ‘Jason Todd’ behind and come with me, or you can return to the living in your current state.  Which will it be?”

“I… I don’t know.”

“Has there been a moment in your life where you did not know pain?”  Glory grew solemn, but his gaze was piercing, like he was looking straight through to all the ugliness inside him.  “That pain in your heart has always been there, has it not? There is a reason, and perhaps it can be alleviated, but you must leave the material ego of ‘Jason Todd’ behind.  Those are the rules.”

“It’s up to you, Jason,” Death said from beside him.  “If you want to move on, just take my hand, but there's no going back this time.  If you choose to leave this existence, it will be permanent.”

Jason paused to reflect, unsure of what he wanted to do.  He knew he didn’t want to live a life of crushing emotional burden.  The constant sadness, confusion, lack of centeredness, spiraling rage and depression, knowing that he was missing a large chunk of memories and not truly understanding why he had done the things he had done… he couldn’t continue to live like that.  It hurt too much. He needed to _know_.

He reached a hand up tentatively toward Death, but suddenly his Robin-self was there, grasping his hand and pulling it away.

“Jason, no,” he said as tears welled up in his eyes.  “Don’t do it! You can’t! This isn't what I intended, and it's not what you wanted either when you pulled that trigger.  You’ve got too much to live for. You don’t need these answers right now. There’ll be a time for this _later_.  Your family loves you!   _Dick_ loves you, and you gave up everything for them.  I _saw_ it, Jason.  I saw what they see when they look at you, and they wouldn’t want this.  Don’t throw it all away!”

“But… it hurts,” Jason choked.  “When I’m awake, it's like I don’t know who I am.  It's like I’m surviving on _pieces of myself_ … it's like I’m not a _whole_ person!  I can’t divide myself across the Dreaming and waking anymore.  I’m losing myself. It's tearing me apart. I can’t live like that!”

“Then I’ll help you, Jason,” his Robin-self gripped his hand harder.  “Just like you helped me. I’ll help you remember in a way that won’t break you.  I’ll help you become whole, but you have to give it a chance. You can’t give up. You’ve _never_ given up!”

No… Jason hadn’t ever given up, but he was tired.  There was something inside him that begged for rest… begged for an eternity of respite from the pain….

“Sire, please,” his Robin-self had turned back to Dream, “let me help him.  It's what you wanted isn’t it? You wanted Batman to find me so that I could help Jason bridge his memories into the waking without hurting him.  I can do it. I just need time. Please sire, let me help him!”

His Robin-self -- no, Jason had to stop calling him that in his head -- he was the Eye of the Black Pearl, a creature of the Dreaming who’s true form was that of a dreamstone.  He had let go of Jason’s hand and was now prostrating himself in front of the Lord Dream. “Please sire,” he begged, “I’ll help him. I’ll do what I have to, I promise.”

“Rise, please,” Dream said gently as he addressed the Eye.  “When I proposed that the Batman find you, I did not know that you had been given consciousness.  You offer much, but to have a dreamstone set loose in the world is a dangerous thing. The very trap you have been liberated from is a consequence of your own foolishness, with grave repercussions.”

“I know, sire,” the Eye had stood again, but he still sobbed, wiping at his reddened face as he stood up straighter to address Dream.  “I made a terrible mistake, but I’ve learned. I know better now. Let this be my penance. Please.”

“I would grant this, with conditions,” Dream assented, much to the Eye’s relief.  “But this is not ultimately your decision. It is Jason’s.”

The Dream Lord turned to Jason finally.  “It is my wish to see you living and well.  I regret much that was done to you, Jason. I regret the harm that I have myself caused you, and I wish to help not simply out of responsibility, but of care and concern.  I hope you choose what I can offer you over my sister’s gift.”

“Listen to him, Jason,” the Corinthian was beside him too now.  “Come on, kid, I don’t want to see you go either. Stick with life.  You’ve never given up. Don’t do it now.”

He was right.  They were right.  He wasn’t done. He was not giving up.  He shouldn't have let himself even considered it.  When he had pulled that trigger back in his living nightmare, he wanted to end it, but he hadn’t actually wanted to _die_.  Quite the opposite in fact, and he had done it because he had wanted to save his family.  He would have accepted Death if that was the natural consequence, but now that he was given a choice, he didn’t have to.  He could choose to be alive. “Okay. Okay, I’ll go back.”

“You will?”  The Eye brightened.

“Yes.”  Now that Jason said it, it seemed absurd that he had even considered leaving everything behind a moment ago.  He wanted time with his family. He didn’t always get along them, but he loved them, and even if he had trouble seeing it while he was awake, he knew deep down they loved him back.  Most importantly, though, he wanted to see Dick. He wanted to be by his side again. He wanted to be able to twine their fingers together as they made love. He wanted to be wrapped in Dick’s arms, as Dick whispered cheesy endearments into his ear.  He wanted to hear Dick say that he loved him, and he wanted to tell Dick that he loved him in return. Dick felt like home, and he wanted to go home.

“I want to go back,” Jason said with finality.  “I want to go home.”

Dream nodded, and touched a gentle hand to his temple.  “Very well, Jason. You will return, but I must limit your memories for now, lest you return to madness.”  Jason nodded, and Dream smiled faintly, looking somewhat relieved as he continued, “The Eye will allow your memories to return to you slowly, so you do not lose yourself again.”

When Dream pulled his hand away, the Corinthian pulled him into another tight embrace.  “I’m glad you chose to stay, Jason. I would have missed you.”

“Well then,” Glory stepped up, offering a handshake, “perhaps another time then, old soul.”

“Good luck, Jason,” Death sidled up and kissed him on the cheek.

Destiny merely nodded.  Jason had almost forgotten he was there, but he acknowledged Jason one last time as he closed his book.

The Eye took his hand.  “Come on, I’ll take you back.  Your family are waiting.”

He tugged Jason forward, and the next thing he knew, Jason was falling into darkness.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \--- Do you remember Jason’s episode with Dream in Chapter 6? Like when Jason started having the nightmare of the trees and Dream had to force him to wake up? I know it was like 10 chapters ago, but yeah… Jason was pulling from this old soul scar back then too. That’s what the spider saw on him in the Bonesaw Spider as well -- that he was connected to the world that died, and she knew that he had powers that went beyond realms because of it. That’s _my_ story anyway… :)  
> \--- Anyway, so what do you guys think? A lot of this is based on the mythology of the Sandman... and its really spun out over the course of the story. Too much? Too confusing? Either way, you are going to get a few more resolution chapters on what this all means for Jason's future though... so stay tuned!


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, life has gotten busy... but here is another chapter. As always, I'd love to hear what you think, so comments (and kudos) are most welcome!

~~~~~ Dick ~~~~~  

When Dick came to, he was still sprawled at the foot of the steps leading up to the platform.  There was a light emanating from somewhere above, and he saw Essence crouched atop, a candle-soft glow emitted from her hand, lighting the immediate vicinity of the platform.

Dick scrambled up as fast as he could, and he found Essence, the Eye, and Constantine all kneeling around a prone form.  Jason.

He reached his hand out to check for a pulse.  He felt it, the beat was faint, but it was there, and Dick let out the breath he had been holding.  Next he looked him over for other injuries -- Jason was still covered in blood and grime, his clothing ripped to shreds, and there were cuts on his arms, torn stitches and a stab wound in his in leg just as before.  The gunshot wounds to his chest were gone however, and there was no evidence that Jason had ever put a gun to his own head.

Dick collapsed on top of Jason, unable to hold in his relief and joy at finding his lover alive any longer.  Tears spilled from his eyes as he fisted his hands in Jason’s tattered jacket. He’d almost lost him again, and Dick didn’t want to let go.  He didn’t ever want to let go again.

“It’s okay, Dick,” the Eye’s voice drifted over his sobs.  “He’s going to be fine. He’s just asleep.”

Dick looked up and was filled with fury.  The Eye was kneeling close, and Dick looked back and forth at both him and Constantine.  “How could you! I saw you! You helped Jason shoot himself! I thought he died!”

“Dick, just… not now,” the Eye bit his lip shaking his head.  His tone was level, but his brow was creased with tension. He still wore the boy-form of Jason, but the way he pressed his lips together, and the way Essence’s faint candle glow reflected deeply in his eyes… he somehow seemed immeasurably old.  He looked back at Dick, a challenge in his eyes as he continued, “You can be mad at us all you want later, but it worked. What _we_ did worked.  Jason broke the blood machine and woke up long enough for the Master to come and end his nightmare for good.  Jason’s alive. Just focus on him okay?”

Dick was still anxious, frustrated and _angry_ , but he forced himself to pause and look back at Jason’s still form.  He was alive. Dick allowed himself to rejoice in that. He let himself revel in the feel of Jason’s beating heart under his hands.  His breathing was deep and even, but he looked pale. “Why won’t he wake up?”

“Because he’s just been through his own personal hell that nearly ripped his mind apart.  He’s lost blood and he’s exhausted.” The Eye was holding one of Jason’s hands in both his own.  A faint glow emanated from where their hands touched. He was working some kind of magic. “We need to get him out of here, but I need to put his head back together enough that he won’t lose it as soon as I let go.”

“Let him work,” Essence finally interjected, pre-empting Dick from separating the Eye from Jason.  “I did not believe before, but I have spoken with the Lord Dreaming. Jason will recover, and this creature will help him.”

Dick tried to calm himself as he took a closer look at Essence.  She look haggard, her hair and clothes matted with the blood that nearly drowned them, but she seemed otherwise fine.  Then Dick remembered that she wasn’t the only one who had been afflicted by the blood hex.

“Where’s Bruce?”  He shot up and stood, looking around as if Bruce would appear out of the darkness.

“He’s okay.  I can’t see him anymore,” the Eye closed his eyes briefly before reopening them, “but I could still feel him when the blood machine shattered.”

That didn’t necessarily mean Bruce was okay at this very moment.  “You can’t see him, but you could before?”

“He’s fine and we’ll go get him soon,” the Eye clarified.  “I know it's a lot to ask after everything, but trust me. I just can’t see him anymore because the Master has limited my abilities.  It's one of the conditions of my stay in the waking. He doesn’t want something like this to happen again.”

“Can’t say I disagree.” Constantine spoke up as he leaned against a pedestal in the center of the round platform, a cigarette in hand.  He took a few puffs and waved his hand up behind him toward the top of the pedestal, it was now empty. “Can’t really say this is any better either, what with the dreamstone got legs now.”  He pointed back at the Eye.

“It's safer for everyone if I keep my true form, the Black Pearl, inside my projection for now,” the Eye looked back at him defiantly.  “If anything does get out of hand, Jason has the power to stop me.”

“But who’s gonna stop Jason?”  Constantine arched a brow. “Don’t think we solved that problem quite yet.”

“Jason doesn’t need to be stopped.  He needs to be protected,” Dick responded, his emotions still running hot.  “And don’t think I forgot how you had your hand in this too. You did the blood magic on Jason in the first place.  I saw you put the _gun_ to his head!”

“I did what had to be done,” Constantine retorted.  “I did what you and your family _couldn’t_ do.”

“Don’t blame him,” the Eye interceded, shaking his head again.  “This needed to happen. Jason’s been drifting for a long time, and he needed to make a choice.  I know it doesn’t seem like it, but this was a synchronicity, one that only Constantine could have brought about.  All these pieces needed to fall into place. I needed to _see_ Jason, I needed to see the way each of _you_ see him and the way Jason sees himself.  Jason needed to be put in a position where he had to _choose_ this life, and now that he has, he can start to move past this.”

Dick wasn’t sure if he believed it, but even though Dick couldn’t fundamentally accept the risk of what they had put Jason through -- of getting him to commit suicide -- he couldn’t argue that it did appear to work.  Jason was alive. The Eye hadn’t lied to him. It had appeared to help them in every way possible until they disagreed. And if it was still offering help… if it was offering a way to keep Jason safe, and to heal the damage done to him, then Dick had to consider it.  “You mean it? Jason’s going to get better?”

“It's not gonna be a quick fix.  He’ll always carry scars, but if he wants to get better then yeah, I can help,” the Eye sighed.  “I made a promise. I’ll stay as long as he wants me to… as long as it takes for him to feel whole again.”

Dick was still skeptical, but if that was the truth, then Dick would learn to accept it, for Jason’s sake.

They sat in silence for a while, until the Eye eventually let go of Jason’s hand.  As soon as he did Jason stirred awake, and Dick didn’t waste any time grabbing his hand and holding it against his heart.

“Jay! Can you hear me?”  He stroked his hand along his cheek, and Jason retracted his hand to  push himself into a sitting position. He winced, but ignored it when Dick tried to keep him still.

“Dick?”  Jason reached a hand out to grip Dick's hand and giving him a quick glance over to make sure he was unharmed, and then doing the same with Essence and Constantine.  “Is everyone okay? Where's Bruce and the others?”

“They’re fine, remember I said I'd take you to them as soon as you woke up,” the Eye responded, as if continuing another conversation Dick wasn't privy to.  “You ready? Let's go.”

Jason nodded, and remained oddly silent.  Dick decided it wasn't the time to push him to talk.  They had to find Bruce first, and get Jason home. Exiting the cavern was thankfully much easier than it was getting in, though slow going.  Jason couldn't walk without support, and Essence was no longer being drained but she was still spent. She managed to maintain the dim glowing light as the Eye led them out of the cavern, but Dick could tell she was barely pushing through.

“I’ll carry you as soon as we get outside,” the Eye said, apologetically.  “I’m not supposed to open portals anymore, the Master said not to warp space-time unless absolutely necessary.  It's done a lot of damage to the fabric of reality here already.”

So they walked, following the path which Dick, Essence and Constantine had come through earlier.  The glowing sigils were gone, in its place the floor was covered in a dark soot, but the nightmarish scenes, the echoing laughter and pulsing heartbeat had vanished.  All Dick could see was a dark, empty cavern in the dim glow.

It was dark when they finally got outside, a seemingly endless night.  Dick wasn't sure how long he was out, but it had to at least be the following evening.  His internal clock suggested that they had been running through Jason’s nightmare for at least a day.  

Constantine stopped as soon as they cleared the entrance to the cavern.  “Well, this is me exit. Prolly best if I take off ‘fore your dad and your cantankerous li’l brother strangle me where I stand.”

Jason nodded.  “John, we’ll need to talk,” was all he said.

“Mebbe some other time, yeah?  Glad you made it through this kid.”  He patted Jason on the shoulder. A door appeared, and John stepped through and was gone.

“He could have at least helped us find Bruce if he can open magic doors,” Dick huffed, his own exhaustion crept out, despite his efforts to hide it.  

“No need,” the Eye pointed up at the sky.  “He already found us.”

A bat plane was fast approaching, slowing to a hover as it approached before lowering to the ground.  Even before it touched down, the lower hatch opened and Bruce sprang out, sprinting toward them. He stopped a few steps from Jason, looking him over as if unsure if this Jason was even real.  He held his hands up tentatively, but he still held back.

“Bruce,” Jason shifted his weight away from Dick’s support to take a step forward, and all hesitance disappeared as Bruce closed the distance between them, crushing him in a hug.  Jason grunted in pain, but he brought his arms up and returned the embrace. “I'm sorry, Bruce. I’m sorry.”

“No, you have nothing to apologize for.  I’m just… I'm glad you’re safe, Jason.” Bruce didn't let go as he helped Jason onto the plane.

The seats inside were two bench rows on either side of the fuselage, Bruce and Essence sat on one side facing Dick, who had Damian cuddled up to him on one side, and Jason leaning against him on the other.   Tim was at the helm. “Okay,” he called back. “We’re ready for take off. ETA in Gotham in just over an hour.”

Everyone was settled into seats, except the Eye. He hovered in the cabin space a few seats away from everyone, alternating between forms, shifting back and forth from the boy-Jason and various sizes of coyote.  Dick watched him warily, his confidence in the Eye’s well-meaning had been shaken since he announced his intention to help Jason kill himself. Bruce seemed to be of similar mind, fixing him with the most severe bat-glare Dick had ever seen.

“Would you settle down?” Jason finally snapped at the Eye, but he was a little breathless.  He didn’t look well, and the hard lighting in the cabin accentuated his pallor, but the plane didn’t have the proper medical supplies they needed.  “Stop changing, it's giving me a headache. Just, I dunno, pick a form and stick with it.”

The Eye obliged, shifting from the form of a normal-sized coyote, and back into the boy-form of Jason.  He approached and took a seat on Jason’s other side, reaching a hand out, but Bruce was suddenly up and out of his own seat, catching his arm.

“You have some explaining to do,” Bruce glared at the Eye.  “I'm expecting answers to what happened back there. What are you trying to accomplish?  Why are you still here?”

“Oh.”  The Eye retracted his hand and looked back at Bruce. “Um… yeah, we should talk about this.”

Beside him, Dick felt Jason tense.  He made to sit up straighter, his face pinched and apprehensive.  “He's here because I agreed to let him help me.”

“And what exactly did you agree to?” Bruce responded, the inquiry sounding more like an interrogation.  “Do you remember? What were the conditions?”

Jason swallowed, brows knitting as he tried to recall.  “I… don't remember.”

“I thought so,” Bruce snarled, and made to yank the Eye away from Jason, but he resisted.

“Hey, I’m not doing anything!”  The Eye objected. “I just want to make sure he’s okay!”

“Wait, Bruce --,” Jason said at the same time.  He shifted forward to grab onto the Eye to keep him seated, but winced as the movement strained his numerous injuries.  He coughed, blood trickling down the side of his mouth.

“Guys,” Dick interrupted, pushing Jason to lean back into his seat.  Dick didn’t like how wan he looked. He seemed dizzy, his eyes unfocused.  They needed to make it through this plane ride back to Gotham without further upsetting Jason.  “Can we not do this now? At least until we can get Jason home?”

“Truce?”  The Eye offered a hand out to Bruce.

Bruce didn’t take it, but replied, “Fine.  Until we get back to the cave, but I don’t want you sitting next to him.  I don't want you touching him.”

The Eye sighed and moved to sit beside Essence as Bruce took up position on Jason’s other side.  Dick settled back, and watched the basin disappear below them through the windows. Outside, the sun was beginning to peak out over the horizon, a blazing orange-yellow that faded into a turquoise that pushed away the black of the night.

“The sky, it looks like the Dreaming….” Jason blinked at the sunrise, as if disoriented, but he closed his eyes and didn’t say anything more.

“Yeah.  The Dreaming,” the Eye echoed.

Dick held Jason’s hand and looked on until Jason drifted off to sleep, his head pillowed against Dick’s shoulder.

//////////////////////////////

Infection had already begun to set into Jason’s wounds by the time they arrived back at the bat cave.  He was feverish and pale, unable to stand on his own, but fortunately Essense was able to levitate him into the med bay.  The cuts on his hands and arms were moderate, some requiring stitches, but it was his leg that had Alfred alarmed. Jason had torn his earlier sutures, and had multiple bite wounds and deep lacerations, but the worst of it was where he had been stabbed.  Dick learned from Damian it was how Constantine had forced the blood magic on Jason, and Dick felt a rush of fury at the man. It was a saving grace Constantine hadn’t managed to nick an artery, otherwise there would be more than hell to pay next time Dick saw the Englishman.

Jason faded into unconsciousness as Alfred started in on treating him.  The others had relatively minor injuries in comparison, and afterwards, Essence rallied some remaining power to move Jason upstairs.  They left the Eye alone with Bruce per his request, and Dick only hoped it didn’t devolve into some kind of all-out battle without him or Jason to intervene.  The last Dick saw was Bruce staring the Eye down, who responded by looking somewhat abashed, as they left the med bay.

Dick turned to Essence once they had Jason settled in their spare room in the manor, “Can we trust that thing?  The Eye?”

“I do not know.  I do not trust anyone, but despite our disagreement on the risk to Jason’s life, it has been truthful thus far.  The Lord Dreaming was confident in it's intentions and abilities.” She let out a long sigh as she stroked Jason’s hair from his face.  “I trust it more than I trust that man, Constantine, or that monster, the Corinthian. If you must trust in the agency of the Lord Dreaming, perhaps the Eye is the lesser of all evils.”

“The lesser of all evils huh?  Does that include you?”

“Perhaps.”  Essence narrowed her eyes at him, before pulling away.  “I will return soon.” She dissipated into a swirl of gray mist, and was gone.

//////////////////////////////

Alfred managed to keep them at the manor for longer than Dick anticipated, and though Jason still demanded his personal space, Dick did his best to keep a close eye on him.  The horror of seeing his lover put a gun to his own head was forever burned into his memory. He didn't want to let Jason out of his sight at all, especially around the Eye, who had somehow managed to come to an agreement with Bruce and was now freely roaming the manor.  Jason was on crutches as his leg healed, but the Eye still followed him around at almost every step like an oversized puppy.

To Dick’s relief, Jason was adjusting remarkably well given the circumstances.  His mood often bounced between confounded, irritated and resigned, but there was no indication of any self-harming or suicidal inclinations.  If anything, it seemed like the undercurrent of depression and listlessness that had plagued him over the last several months had been alleviated somewhat.  There hadn't been any episodes of catatonia, Jason hadn't yet erupted into frustration-induced rage, and he seemed… Dick couldn't quite pinpoint what it was… he wasn't what Dick would _happy_ , but it was almost like Jason was a little more _hopeful_.  Like he was less burdened somehow.

Dick wasn't sure if the Eye was helping, but ever since they returned to the manor, he certainly didn't seem to be making anything worse.  He seemed to have settled on two primary forms -- that of the coyote, in varying sizes, and the form of Jason as a boy. The real Jason still tolerated his presence with some wariness, and he was understandably more at ease with the Eye in his coyote form than when he wore the guise of a younger Jason, but there was also some amusement, maybe even some joint mischief going on between them.

Dick had found them one day, outside on the manor grounds with the strange goat. Surprisingly, Damian was also with them, sitting on the lawn with Jason.  He gave Dick a small nod and a smile as he sat down beside them.

“You shouldn’t keep her locked away, Todd,” Damian was saying.  “Such imprisonment is cruel. You must learn the proper care and feeding of an animal.”  He was stroking the goat behind the ears and offering her a carrot as he turned to Dick, “Richard, do you not agree?  Tell Todd he is being cruel.”

“I don’t know, Damian,” Dick replied.  “You didn’t see all the damage she did that first time she rampaged through Gotham.”

“--Tt--.  All the more reason she must be let out for regular exercise,” Damian reasoned.  “She was cooped up for far too long.”

“Lizzy’s not a real goat, Damian.  And she doesn’t actually need to eat either.  Now she’s just going to shit everywhere,” Jason grumbled, but his tone was teasing.  He was barely hiding the amusement on his face.

Damian tutted.  “She is enjoying proper nourishment.  Do you not see?” The carrot had disappeared down her gullet, and Lizzy was now nudging Damian’s pockets in search of more.  “And let us not speak of what is real and what is not. That,” he pointed at the Eye, who was running across the grassy field in the form of the coyote, “is not even a dog, and yet the both of you are playing fetch.”

And indeed he was.  Jason had thrown a rubber ball, and the Eye was returning with it in his mouth, dropping it right into Jason’s lap.

“Throw it again!” He panted, tail wagging excitedly.

Jason did, and the Eye sprinted away again.  “We’re not playing fetch, we’re working on tactical retrieval,” he said blandly back to Damian, but a smile finally broke the line of his lips.

“If you must be so technical, Todd, then you must include _strategic_ social conditioning into Lizzy’s training.  It is vital if you are to ready her for battle.”

They went on like that for a while, Jason entertaining Damian’s insistance on proper animal care with surprising good humor.  It didn’t appear that they would eminently kill each other, so Dick retreated back into the manor. He wanted to check in with Tim, and found him in one of the second story dens looking out the window at the scene that Dick had just left -- Jason, Damian, the Eye and Lizzy still sitting on the lawn.  Except another figure stood beside Tim -- the boy-Jason form of the Eye.

“How are you --?” Dick asked confusedly, glancing between the boy-Jason and the coyote running in the grass outside the window.  “Aren't you out there at the same time?”

“Yeah, these forms are projections, remember?  I can be in more than one place at a time,” the Eye shrugged.  “I'm probably at my limit for separating consciousness nowadays, but working on _tactical retrieval_ with Jason doesn’t require a lot of intellectual capacity.”

The Eye had given up dressing in their old Robin costume at some point.  It made sense, since it was hardly practical for following Jason around the manor.  Most of the time, if he was in boy-Jason form, he appeared wearing a miniature version of whatever Jason was wearing, which more often than not was an outfit consisting of a red hoodie and jeans. It was almost adorable, if you didn't know that the mini-Jay traipsing around was actually an awesomely powerful dream entity.

Dick narrowed his eyes, still cautious in the creature’s presence.  “Does Jason know you're up here at the same time?” It wasn't a good sign if the Eye was sneaking behind Jason’s back.

“Sure.  That’s why we’re standing in the window, so he can see us.”  The Eye had a deceptively innocent look on his boyish face. “Jason has a good sense for my presence, ever since he fed off my power.  Besides, he already knows what Tim and I were just talking about.”

Tim nodded.  “Dick, it's good you’re here.  You should hear this too.”

“Hear what?”

“Why Bruce is letting the Eye stay with Jason,” Tim frowned at the boy-form as well as the coyote-form still running in the grass outside the window.  “Bruce normally doesn’t trust anyone, let alone someone who pushed Jason into suicide.” The simple statement conveyed more than just Tim’s observation of Bruce’s typical surly behavior.  It reflected what Tim thought too. He hadn't been as outright hostile to the Eye the same way Bruce had, but he had also made it clear that he wasn't willing to accept it at face value either.

Dick himself was still unsure.  He had shared a brief connection with the Eye back when they were trapped in Jason’s nightmare, and he still believed that the Eye wasn't intentionally malicious, but there was clear disagreement on what was an acceptable risk to Jason's life.  Dick couldn't quite forgive him for that, even if it somehow ultimately saved them all.

The question remained on why Bruce would allow the Eye to remain with Jason though.  Dick hadn't had a chance to grill Bruce about it, but he had also assumed that there wasn't much any of them could do about the Eye’s presence, given his abilities and Jason’s adamant insistence that he be allowed to stay.  Dick hadn’t wanted to upset Jason any further, so he accepted it for the time being.

“You guys aren't ever gonna let that go, are you?  For what it's worth, I never wanted Jason to die. I did everything I could to make sure he came back.”  The Eye sighed and quirked a brow at both Dick and Tim’s deadpan stares. “Guess I can’t blame you guys. B was the same.  He'll never really trust me, but we worked something out. I don't know why either of them didn't just tell you. It's not exactly a secret, not from you guys anyway.  It would have started to get really obvious with me having to come back here every so often.”

“What does that mean.  Why would you have to come back here?  Did you work out some kind of collateral?”  Tim asked. He was in full detective mode now. “Explain.”

“Collateral,” the Eye said cheerlessly.  “That’s one way to put it, but you're right.  Bruce needed some kind of leverage he could use _against_ me in case anything happened, so I gave him the only thing I had.”

Tim narrowed his eyes as he put the pieces together, his mind working, likely drawing the same conclusion as Dick.  The Eye had no possessions and no attachments outside of the Dreaming. Whatever he had was created from his own power.  The very form they were talking to was self-created, using the power of the Black Pearl, which was the only thing the Eye would have to give -- the physical pearl itself.

“You gave him… yourself?”  Tim said disbelievingly. “But… why?”

The Eye sighed and flopped into a nearby chair.  “I’m here for one reason only -- to help Jason -- but I can't do that effectively if Bruce is constantly trying to get rid of me.  With my true form in his possession, it will give him some measure of control. I’ll have to come back every couple weeks if I want to maintain a continuous projection, because it's easier than having to keep sending out new forms as the old ones crumble.  It also gives him a way to stop me from doing something he doesn’t agree with, if it ever comes to that.”

“Would he actually be able to do that?”  Dick didn’t quite believe it could be that simple.  “What’s to stop you from taking back the Black Pearl any time you wanted?”

“He’s Batman,” the Eye gave a self deprecating sort of laugh, as if that explained everything.  And it did in a way. If anyone could find a way to contain the power of the Black Pearl -- to wield it or even destroy it -- it was Bruce.  The Eye undoubtedly knew this, so what it came down to was that placing his true form into Bruce’s custody was an act of trust. In exchange, the Eye asked that he trusted him enough not to intentionally harm Jason.

It was by no means perfect, the tension and wariness of the Eye would always be there, but it was a clever way to broker the situation, and Dick took a pause to take a closer look at the Eye.  He looked and acted like Jason did as a boy, but a boy he definitely was not. From the snippets of his history he occasionally dropped, Dick knew the entity was ancient and incredibly powerful -- as shown through the nightmare they had all lived through, the Eye was able to warp reality and steal memories from the minds of those around it.  At the same time, it was clearly self-limiting, avoiding any outright displays of power other than shapeshifting ever since they had gotten back. The Eye had mentioned that the Dream Lord had limited its power, but that didn’t explain everything. It clearly wanted to be here of its own volition.

“What are you getting out of this?”  There had to be more to its story, and Dick needed to understand it's motivations.

The Eye flicked his gaze at Dick and Tim, and then turned to look out the window.  Jason was still sitting on the lawn with Damian and Lizzy the goat. The coyote-form was still running through the grass, but this time instead of a rubber ball, it was retrieving batarangs.

The Eye-Jason giggled softly at the sight, but then sobered.  Without turning his gaze away from the window, he responded, “What do I get out of this?  A life. A purpose. Penance. I caused thousands of years of unimaginable horror. I don't want to do it again.  I’d rather do this. It's much more pleasant, and I know it's far more than I deserve.”

“That’s it?”  Tim still sounded skeptical.  “You expect us to believe that after everything that happened?”

“That’s it.  Really,” the Eye nodded.  “I was created to tell stories, and Jason’s story is one of the best.  He reminds me of who I used to be, and his wellbeing is important to my master.  I’ve taken this form because I’ve _seen_ who Jason really is, and I like him.  A lot. I want to see him get better someday, and I can help him do that.  Sometimes that’s all it takes to be happy.”

Outside, Jason was now patting the coyote-form, scratching him behind the ears as he rolled on it's back in the grass.  He was saying something to Damian that was too low for them to hear through the window, probably some snide remark or joke because he was smiling, and Dick felt some joy in seeing that.

Maybe the Eye was telling the truth, as it was certainly true for Dick.  Sometimes all he needed to be happy was seeing a smile on Jason’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so you know, this fic is done! Yay! (or not, sad!). But what that means is I will be editing and posting the final chapters very soon.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven’t really done the same POV twice in a row for a while now, but this was originally part of the previous chapter… and then it just kept getting longer and longer. Eventually I just decided it made more sense to break it up. So you get two Dick chapters in a row.

~~~~~ Dick ~~~~~  

It was only a few more days before Jason inevitably made a break for it.  He simply up and disappeared one morning after breakfast, and by the time Dick realized he wasn’t just hiding in the library, Jason was already gone.

“It’s okay,” the Eye, in his mini-Jay form, appeared out of nowhere beside him.  “He was feeling kind of suffocated, so he just went back to your apartment. He’s safe.  I’m with him right now, he took me with him.”

There were advantages to the Eye’s ability to be in two places, but it was also a telling.  Jason couldn't have gotten anywhere quickly on crutches, and judging by the mischievous grin on his face, the Eye had probably helped Jason flee.  It took some convincing to get Bruce not to run after him and bring him back, but Tim was finally able to get him to back down. Dick resigned to pack up some supplies and food from Alfred, before he went home in search of Jason.

When Dick walked in through the front door, he found the Eye bustling around the apartment, seemingly enforcing their magical wards.  There were new inscriptions and sigils decorating the inside of their door and walls, and the Eye was scribbling something on a pad of paper as he eyed the ceiling.

“He’s in your room,” he said in greeting, and went back to his task.

Jason looked somewhat sheepish as Dick stepped into their room to find him propped against the headboard of their bed, a tattered book in hand.

“I guess he told on me, huh?”  Jason sighed. “I shoulda known he’d play both sides.”

Dick sat beside him, shifting so that he was slightly touching Jason on the shoulder as he leaned against the headboard.  “We’re not on different sides, Jay. At least not you and me.”

Jason reached out and took Dick’s hand.  “I know. I just meant…. Sorry, Dick. I should have asked if this was okay.”

He got the feeling Jason wasn’t just talking about his escape from the manor.  He was talking about the presence of the Eye.

“Are _you_ okay with this?”  Dick still couldn’t really gauge how Jason felt about all of it.  Outside of the few times he had been defensive of they Eye’s presence, he had had expressed little more than passive acceptance.

“I’m figuring it out, but yeah.  For now at least.” Jason gave his hand a small squeeze of assurance.

“Okay.  I can work with that.”  Dick squeezed his hand back.  

However, it wasn’t until Jason directed the Eye to settle in one of their spare rooms, that it started to sink in that they didn't just have a house guest -- the Eye was _moving in_ with them.  

Dick felt a little relieved however, when Jason made an effort to set some boundaries.  “It's better if you have your own space,” he had said to the Eye, though it seemed he had little understanding of what to do with its own room.  He didn't spend much time there. Instead, he still followed Jason around as he hobbled around, switching back and forth from boy to coyote form.  

Jason seemed slightly irritated, but eventually he figured out how to put the Eye to good use.  Since he was still on crutches, Jason found he could direct the Eye to help him get things around the apartment, and when dinner came around, he had the Eye set the table.  Dick had glimpsed the Eye do similarly on more than one occasion with Alfred back at the manor. Probably much like Jason had done when he himself was a boy. Alfred always included a table setting for the Eye at the manor, whether or not he actually showed up for a sit-down meal, and Jason now included a third table setting for him at their dining table.  Whether Dick liked it or not, it seemed Jason was preparing to have the Eye around for the long haul.

Thankfully the Eye had the common sense not to follow Dick and Jason into their bedroom, and that night, as they lay in bed together, Dick couldn’t help but wonder at Jason’s recovery.  His leg was healing remarkably fast, and Dick guessed that it had something to do with Essence. He hadn’t seen her directly since she disappeared that first night they returned to the manor, but there were a few occasions where he had caught Jason talking to an empty room.  Essence was keeping to her usual MO of sneaking around and hiding from the rest of the family, and as usual, Jason kept his contact with her private. It was something Dick would just have to accept as a peculiarity of Jason’s ongoing friendship with her. She was clearly devoted to Jason, and Bruce trusted her enough to have initiated the mission for the dreamstone with her, so Dick resolved himself to just having to get over his protectiveness and jealousy.

Beyond the physical though, it was hard to suss out exactly what emotional state Jason was in.  Before the living nightmare, Jason had been spiraling downward into mental instability and depression.  Dick had felt helpless to do anything about it then, and he was still unsure of what he could do about it now.  Jason was still prone to bouts of anger and brooding, which was par for the course when it came to Jason’s personality, but the threat of a mental breakdown really arose when it came to Jason’s memories.

Dick had refrained from being too pushy about asking what Jason remembered for fear of triggering him into a panic attack.  It had nearly happened once when Bruce, who in typical fashion had been unable to hold back from questioning him the day after they had returned.  Jason had immediately frozen up, his breath turning into wheezing gasps, and Dick had scrambled to try and calm him. The Eye had appeared out of nowhere and with a simple touch, caused Jason to sleep.

“Don’t ask him what he remembers yet.  Seriously. He’s not ready,” the Eye scolded.

“You’re still preventing him from fully remembering,” Bruce growled back angrily.

“Yes!  Because did you not see what just happened?”  The Eye crossed his arms and returned Bruce’s bat-glare.  “He’s gonna get better, I promise, but you need to give him time to process the trauma, and pushing him before he’s ready is just going to trigger a full meltdown.  Did you forget the whole living nightmare thing? Because I certainly didn’t. None of us want that.”

Despite himself, Dick had agreed.  Sending Jason into a full blown panic just to extract information was not conducive to anything.  Bruce backed off, and none of the family sought to question him further for the time being. In those first few days Jason was reticent to talk and was guarded as usual, but he had been surprisingly willing to recuperate in the company of the rest of the bats.  Uncharacteristically surprising, given Jason’s antisocial tendencies, and it had Dick wondering at a comment the Eye had made back in the ruins of the blood machine.

They were lying together on their sides, face to face, not talking.  It was relatively early for the bats -- Bruce, Tim, and Damian would just be starting out on patrol -- but it was dark out, and the only light in the room was the moonlight that streamed through the windows.  It was enough to make out Jason’s general shape, the angles of his striking features and the paleness of his eyes. It was a rare quiet moment between them, where they were simply enjoying the proximity of the other.  Jason closed his eyes as he twined their fingers together, and Dick reached out a hand to stroke Jason’s face.

“Can I ask you something?”  Dick found himself saying.

Jason didn’t immediately answer, but he opened his eyes to look back at Dick.  His expression was pensive, not nervous or agitated per se, but it was almost like he was trying to gauge his own receptiveness and ability to respond to Dick’s unasked question.  “Okay,” he said tentatively.

“The Eye said something before you woke up.  He said you had to make a choice… that you chose this life.  Do you know what he meant?”

Jason drew his brows together in thought, and Dick worried that perhaps it was still too early, that it was something that would trigger another panic attack, but Jason remained still.  His breathing remained even until eventually he answered.

“It's kind of hazy,” he said, “but I think they asked me if I wanted to come back….”   He swallowed and knotted his brow, a pained expression flashed across his features. “I think... I almost made the wrong choice.”

“What about now?  Do you think you made the right choice now?”

Dick held his breath as Jason lapsed into silence for another long moment, but then, “Yeah, I did.”  Jason scooted closer to him on the bed. “I want to be _here_ , with _you_.”

They hadn’t been intimate since they got back, both Jason’s injuries and his general moodiness a clear sign that he needed space, but now he leaned in, tilting his head just so.  The gesture was almost shy… like he was a little unsure of Dick’s receptiveness… like he was a little embarrassed to be asking to be kissed.

Dick closed the gap between them without hesitation, bringing a hand to cup the back of Jason’s head as he pressed their lips together.  Dick licked gently at Jason’s bottom lip as he opened up. Jason’s mouth was warm and welcoming, tasting slightly ashy. He had been smoking again, perhaps trying to remind himself of the lost love of his mother.   Perhaps trying to remind himself of the feeling of being loved in general. Dick couldn’t help with the former, but he would with the latter.

Dick deepened the kiss, pushing forward so that Jason was rolling onto his back with Dick leaning slightly over him.  He sucked on Jason’s tongue, teased his lip again with his teeth, and then moved downward to kiss along his jawline and down his throat.  Jason let out a yearning sound, almost like a whimper, and Dick sealed their lips together again as Jason moaned into his mouth.

He trailed his hand along Jason’s arm, the bandages were gone but the raised and puckered lines of healing wounds remained.  There was a new ridge along his palm and a jagged welt along his thigh, the wounds closed, but still tender and pink. Dick brushed his fingers against them gently, “What do you want, Jay?  I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I’m fine.”  Jason pulled Dick further on top of him so that he was straddling him, and then pushed Dick’s hands under the hem of his undershirt so that Dick was touching the bare skin of Jason's abs.  “Just touch me.”

Dick obliged, running his hands slowly along Jason’s sides before pulling the shirt over his head.  He covered Jason’s mouth with his own once more, licking and probing slowly with his tongue as he rolled his hips gently over Jason’s.  He paused only to remove his own clothing, and then returned his hands to stroking up and down Jason’s chest and stomach, alternating between tasting his mouth and the skin along his throat.

Jason panted under him, rocking his hips in rhythm with Dick.  His shorts were still on, but Dick could feel he was rock hard just from the heavy frottage.  He flicked a hand against the jut of Jason’s hip, teasing just under the elastic, and Jason bucked under him, his abs tensing under Dick’s other hand.  He let out a low whine, and brought his hands to grip the globes of Dick’s ass, pulling him downward so their cocks were pressed length to length through the thin cloth.  

Dick continued to roll his hips against him.  The friction was great. It was fantastic, but not enough to sate their building desire.  They both wanted to be skin-to-skin, to be connected, to be as close to being joined as one as could possibly be between them.  Dick backed up just enough to pull down the last bit of fabric separating them, careful to avoid pressing against Jason’s tender wounds as Dick pulled the shorts down over his hips and thighs.

Dick stretched himself out over him, enjoying the feel of their bodies pressed together, the heat of their groins, the gentle pressure of their bellies and chests expanding and contracting with each breath.  Dick fisted both hands in Jason’s hair and ravished his mouth, jerking his hips in a quick rhythm against Jason’s hardness. He knew it wasn’t quite enough to get either of them off, but he wanted to feel Jason responding under him.  He wanted Jason to reach for him. He wanted Jason to need him.

“Fuck, Dick!  Quit being such a tease.”  Jason had finally decided he could only take so much and pulled Dick against him harder as he ground himself upward, trying to get some additional purchase by digging his heels into the bed.  He stiffened suddenly, a sudden gasp of real pain escaping his throat. He had strained the wound on his leg.

Dick backed up immediately.  “Sorry! I’m sorry Jay,” he stammered remorsefully.  “Maybe we shouldn’t --.”

“No,” Jason interrupted him, a finger gently held over Dick’s lips.  “We should. We definitely should.” He sat up slowly, Dick still straddled in his lap, and leaned in to kiss him again.  Jason reached down to stroke Dick’s length between them, and Dick responded in kind. They worked each other hard again until they were both panting and straining against each other.

“Can you…,” Dick trailed off.  What they were doing felt good, but he wanted it to feel even better.  He wanted to be even closer to Jason, but he didn’t want to accidentally hurt him again.  He didn’t want Jason to have another reason to shy away from him.

“What?  Tell me.”  Jason glided his hands up to Dick’s chest, thumbing his nipples and dipping his head to nip at his collarbone.

“Lie back.”  Dick nudged his face upward again into a kiss, probing deep into Jason’s mouth, swirling their tongues in a wet tangle before pulling back again.  “I want to ride you.  It'll put less pressure on your leg.”

He nudged Jason until he was on his back again, and Dick dug into the nightstand and placed the lube into Jason’s hands.  He hovered over him on hands and knees, savoring the taste of Jason as they kissed. Jason probed into him with a finger, working him open, stroking his prostate until Dick’s cock was twitching and bobbing against Jason’s belly, feeling the gentle brush of the sensitive head against the trail of hair that led up to Jason’s navel.  It was just enough to have Dick shivering in anticipation, his desire growing into a craving.

Dick lowered himself into position, taking a hold of Jason’s cock so it was poised at his entrance.  He sank himself down ever so slowly so he could enjoy the feel of himself expanding to take Jason fully in.  Jason swore beneath him, took a deep breath and swore again. Dick enveloped Jason inside him, feeling the length and girth of his cock, so hard and full, throbbing and pulsing.  He moved his hands down to both of Jason’s, twining his fingers around each hand and holding them down on the bed on either side of Jason’s head. Dick stilled for a moment, making sure that Jason was okay -- that he didn’t react to being essentially pinned in a vulnerable position -- that he had time to say no, the same way Jason had always been so careful to do with him.  Jason only moaned, his breath was shallow and tense.

“Is this okay?”  Dick wanted to make sure.  They had both been hurt so badly, but Jason was still both physically and emotionally raw.  Dick had to make sure Jason wanted this as much as he did.

“Yes.”  Jason’s voice was strained, but it was clear.  “Dickie, I want this. Yes.”

Dick felt a warmth bloom inside him, and he began to move.  Rocking himself over Jason, sliding himself back and forth around Jason’s cock slowly at first, until he could feel the tip rubbing at his prostate, before fucking himself down at just the right angle… controlling the rhythm and grind, feeling the the press and pressure hitting him in just the right spot every time.

Beneath him, Jason looked absolutely debauched.  His eyes half-lidded, low moans and mewls escaping his lips as he allowed Dick to take control of the pace.  Allowing Dick to drive the erotic call and response of their bodies and submitting to the pleasure. Submitting to Dick.

“Does that feel good, Jay?  Tell me, because I love it. I love you, and I love what we’re doing.  I want you to love it to. I want you to love this. I want you to love _us_.”

“I…”  Jason closed his eyes and pressed his head back into the pillows, biting his bottom lip, his face flushed pink even in the dim light of the moon.  The sight was gloriously beautiful.

“Do you feel it, Jay?”  Dick rolled his hips, clenching himself around Jason’s cock with each glide.  “That’s us. Together.”

Jason gasped in response, and Dick pushed up the rhythm, feeling the pull and friction with each slide of Jason’s cock inside him.  Grinding himself down a little harder, so that he could feel his taint and his balls slap against the nest of curls above Jason’s groin, feeling an intense tightening in the base of his cock with each nudge of his prostate.  Dick could feel Jason responding under him, tensing up as orgasm began to build, the quiver of muscles, the tightening clasp of his fingers as Dick continued to hold their hands down on the bed.

“Dick… I feel it.  Us.” And then Jason was crashing into his climax, crying out as his whole body jerked and spasmed.

Dick released his hands long enough to put a hand to his own cock.  It only took a single stroke and he was spilling himself in an exquisite orgasm that surged through him in blissful waves.  

“Oh god.  Oh fuck,” he found himself saying.  It seemed to last forever, and then he was collapsing down onto Jason’s chest, nuzzling into the the furrow of his neck and shoulder.  “I love you, Jay. I love you.”

He pulled back just enough to look at Jason, and he was looking back, pale eyes reflecting the soft glow of moonlight and illuminating the curve of his lips.  He was smiling.

“You’re such a sap, Dickie,” he replied softly.

They kissed, their breaths mingling as they fell asleep in each other’s arms.

//////////////////////////////

Dick woke suddenly to the feeling of another presence in the room.  He blinked into the darkness to see a pair of glowing eyes beside Jason’s sleeping form.  He readied himself to launch at the intruder, when a voice suddenly spoke up.

“It’s okay.  It's just me, Dick.”  It was the Eye in his boy-form, kneeling by Jason’s side of the bed.  His eyes glowed faintly yellow, the emblem of the sigils emblazoned in both eyes.  “I didn’t mean to disturb you. I wouldn’t normally come in here, but Jason’s having a nightmare I’m trying to control.  It helps if I touch him.”

Dick glanced down at Jason, and sure enough there was a thin sheet of sweat covering his skin.  He tossed his head slightly, a whimper sounding from the back of his throat. The Eye was holding Jason’s closed fist in both of his hands.

“You’re controlling his nightmares?”  Dick frowned at the scene. He didn’t like this.  They were both still nude in bed, and he didn’t like the Eye invading their privacy.  He didn’t like the idea of the Eye controlling Jason in any way.

“Not exactly.  I’ve been _managing_ his nightmares.  Trying to keep them from getting too out of hand. This one’s not the worst, but it's bad.”

“Why’s this happening now?”  A barrage of questions ran through Dick’s mind.  Was it because they had come back to their apartment?  Was it because they had fallen asleep after making love?  A feeling of guilt washed over him at the thought that maybe he had pushed Jason into it before he was ready.

The Eye seemed to pick up on his thoughts, and gave him a sympathetic look.  “It's not your fault. Nightmares are a natural part of _healing._  This is just Jason trying to process everything that’s happened to him.  I’ve been trying to keep it manageable so he’s still functional when he’s awake.”  The Eye paused and look back and forth between Dick and Jason, seeming to come to some sort of conclusion.  “It might be that this one’s bad because you actually made him feel safe enough to have this nightmare at all.”

That… kind of made sense, but Dick still didn’t want Jason to suffer if he could prevent it.  “Can we wake him up?”

“We could, but like I said earlier, this is part of his healing.  We should let him process it in the Dreaming.”

“Then, can I help him?  In the Dreaming?”

The Eye flashed his glowing eyes up at Dick again, somewhat surprised at the notion.  “Huh. Okay, if you’re willing, I’ll bring you in, but I’m going to have to put you back to sleep.”

Dick nodded.  “Bring me in. What do I need to do?”

The Eye lifted one hand away from where he was still holding Jason’s and reached out toward Dick.  “Just take my hand.”

Dick reached over Jason, grabbing ahold of the boy-forms fingers, and then all he knew was blackness.

….

Until suddenly he was back on that demonic plane where they had fought the gray spider.  He was dressed as Nightwing, and he could see Jason down aways on the stone platform, pinned underneath the large white form of the spider woman.  She was holding him down as he thrashed on the ground, tearing at his clothes as she manhandled him... as she _touched_ him.  As she started to _rape_ him.

Dick launched forward, filled with righteous fury, but the ground crumbled before him into a dark abyss.  Dark, undulating tentacles crept out at the edges, reaching toward Jason’s struggling form.

“Jason!” He yelled, trying to find a way across the chasm, but it was too far to cross.  He was about to make the leap anyway, reaching behind him for the grapping hook embedded in his escrima, when a hand grabbed him on the shoulder.

“No need for that.  I’ll close the chasm.”  Dick spun and came face to face with the three toothy maws of the Corinthian.  “We’ve done this about a dozen times already, but he keeps restarting the nightmare.”

Another figure peaked out from behind the monster, the Robin-form of the Eye.  He looked extremely upset as he stared at where the tentacles had now wrapped around Jason, snaking around his now mostly nude body and dragging him down toward the abyss.  

“He hasn't even begun to get over what she did to him,” the Eye shook his head, blinking tears out of his eyes.  “But he keeps pushing himself into the realm where he was possessed. That’s too much for him to handle right now.  He just won’t let go of it though.”

“Now that you’re here,” the Corinthian turned to Dick, “he might latch onto you enough to make him lucid.”  He raised his arms, as if miming holding something in the air, and then snapped his hands together. The chasm closed shut, the tentacles severed and writhing on the ground.

The Corinthian was moving already, rushing in to tear the spider woman dreamform away.  Sick followed and pulled Jason's limp from into his arms.

“Jay?  Look at me!”  Dick ripped off his domino mask and gave him a slight shake.  His eyes were open, but they were dazed and unfocused. “Come on, Jay.”

“Dick?”  Jason blinked in confusion.

“Yeah, it's me.  I’m here Jay. You’re in the Dreaming.”

“What?”  Realization dawned as he looked around him.  “Oh shit! This is the Nightmare.”

He shifted in Dick’s arms, moving to stand on shaky feet, when the Corinthian appeared again, hooking a hand under his arm to haul him fully upright.

“Took you long enough, Jason.”  His smile was no less creepy in the Dreaming, but Dick thought he somehow looked genuinely relieved.  He clapped a hand on Jason’s bare shoulder, his hand lingering a little too long for Dick’s liking as it trailed down Jason's back, but then he stepped away, and in an almost gentle voice, “I’ll clean up here.  You should go before you start warping this place again.”

“Why don’t we go to the Palace?”  The Eye was peeking out from behind the Corinthian again.  “I need to talk to the boss, and Jason, you need to clear your head.”

Jason nodded, and it seemed like Dick had only taken a single step forward when the scene around suddenly transitioned into an entirely different scene -- smooth white marble columns lining a long hall, large slabs of checkered tiles and arched ceilings.  It was as beautiful as it was grand. They were indeed in some kind of palace.

“The Palace of the Dreaming,” piped the Eye.  He was smiling cheekily and bouncing on his toes.  “You were here once, Dick, but you probably don't remember.” He turned back to Jason next, “You okay if I leave you?  You remember the drill, right? Stay here as long as you want ‘til you wake up.”

Beside him, Jason stood fully dressed again in his Red Hood gear, sans helmet.  He seemed immediately relaxed -- this place was obviously familiar to him. He seemed comfortable, but not in any way Dick had ever seen him.  Jason called Gotham home, but no one ever got truly comfortable in Gotham. There was always a wariness and undercurrent of cynicism in it's people, and Jason was no exception.  Even in the manor, Jason had never seemed to act like he felt fully safe, but here in this palace… it was like Jason had found a place where he could drop his guard for once.

“Yeah.  I'm fine,” Jason nodded neutrally at the Eye.  “Just go.”

The Eye took another pause to give Jason a once over, but seemed to be satisfied with what he saw.  “Okay. I gotta talk to the boss. I’ll see you guys when you wake up!” And he was off, disappearing down the hall.

There were tall, thin windows lining one side of the hall, and Jason ducked his head to peer outside.  When he turned back to Dick, something about his expression had brightened.

“I wanna show you something.”  There was an excitement in his voice, a barely concealed grin as he beckoned Dick to follow.  He led them down a maze of corridors that seemed to criss cross and turn impossibly without doubling back on their tracks, but Jason seemed to know exactly where he was going.  Dick followed, trusting Jason not to get them lost, until they reached an ornate archway that opened up onto a balcony.

“I want you to see this.”  Jason walked out to the railing and gestured Dick forward.  

Dick arched a brow in question, but did as Jason asked.  He moved to stand beside him, and took in the scene with amazement.

The sky was a brilliant swirl of intensely bright blue, sparkling gold and white, with curls of indigo and vermilion as it faded upward into a black starry sky.  It was like a Van Gogh painting, but somehow even more intense. It was more than surreal, it was _hyperreal_.

“Wow,” Dick exclaimed.  “I’ve never seen anything like this!”

“I know, right?”  Jason bumped his shoulder beside him and took his hand.  “I used to come here all the time just so I could watch the sunrise and sunsets.  It's different every single time. There’s nothing like it in the waking. I really miss it sometimes.”

“I can see why.  It's absolutely breathtaking.”

Jason smiled at him, and Dick had his breath taken away a second time.  The pure unguarded joy on his face was blazingly beautiful, and there was an openness and warmth that seemed to radiate from him.  Like the brightness of his soul was somehow shining through in a way that Jason would find too vulnerable and exposed in the waking.  All the same Dick recognized the feel of it. It was what he felt from Jason in those quiet moments that they shared when no one was looking.  When Jason would let down the walls he built around himself just long enough to tell Dick he loved him. In tender kisses that they shared, and in the afterglow of making love.

It all felt like a dream, but at the same time, Dick knew in some ways this was more the real Jason than he would ever be in the waking.

“Thank you,” Dick smiled back.  “I’m glad you shared this with me.”

“Me too.”

They kissed as spears of silvery blue daylight burst forth from the horizon, obliterating the last of the starry night sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are getting toward the end... next two chapters will probably come out together.... so tell me what you think!!!!! Really! I want to know!


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday to me! Well not anymore, but when I was writing this it was around my birthday ;)

~~~~~ Jason, several weeks later ~~~~~  

“You're a good girl, aren't you?  Aren't you?” The Eye giggled and cooed as he stroked Lizzy with a brush.  Jason’s mini-me was crouched by the tulpa in a corner of the living room by the two dog beds.  Damian had brought the first bed over to their apartment some weeks ago, explicitly instructing him to give Lizzy “a safe place for respite when allowed out of confinement,” and that he should “consider re-homing if unable to give the proper care she deserves.”  As if it were that easy to find another home for a goat-shaped thoughtform with violent rampaging tendencies. Then again, Jason was pretty sure Damian had been hinting at passing Lizzy over to the demonbrat himself, but Jason wasn’t willing to part with her just yet.  Or ever.

“Thatta girl.  Here, who wants a treat?”  The Eye was now pulling a carrot from his pocket for Lizzy to nibble on.

“Don’t spoil her,” Jason admonished.  

“It's okay, it's just a thought-carrot.”  The Eye produced another one out of thin air as soon as Lizzy crunched down the first.  “We won't have to deal with any surprise goat-droppings.”

Thank goodness the Eye was as much as a neat freak as Jason, but he rolled his eyes in response anyway.  “Don’t let her out too much. She’s going to get used to roaming free and she won’t want to go back in the medallion.”

“Speak for yourself,” the Eye teased back.  “You're the one who’s been letting her out everyday!”

It was true.  Jason had gotten a little attached, but that didn't mean he had gone soft.  Just like it didn't mean he had gone soft when he had bought the second dog bed.  He had noticed that the Eye stayed off the furniture when he was in coyote form, and was frequently lying about the apartment on the hardwood floors.  Jason had made it clear that his mini-me had his own room with a real bed, and it didn't seem right that he had to sleep on the floor just because he was a coyote.  Plus the Eye often switched into said form to make Jason more comfortable.

“I wish you’d put on some other face,” Jason had complained early on.

“Why?”  The Eye seemed genuinely puzzled at his discomfort.  “I can see you so much better like this. I helps me see how you think, so I can understand you.  So I can help you.”

That made a sort of sense.  He was still getting used to this new partnership, and the Eye seemed to get him in a way that negated any of the complicated miscommunication he always had with the bats.  He never had to explain his point of view, and he never felt like he had to defend himself. The Eye was solely ever on his side, and though he couldn’t quite remember all the details of what went on after he had shot himself in his living nightmare, he found himself trusting the Eye and believing that it was trying to help him.

Still, it was unnerving looking at a younger version of himself.  Jason hadn’t quite gotten used to that yet. He wasn’t sure that he wanted to.  Ever.

“It's just really fucking creepy looking at my younger self.  I’d prefer not to,” Jason had harped back at the Eye. It was one of the few things that the Eye didn’t seem to quite get.

“Is this better?”  The Eye had morphed into its enormous coyote form, its head touching the ceiling of their apartment.

“Too fucking big,” Jason crossed his arms.

“This better?”  The Eye shrunk down a few feet.

“Marginally.”

“How about this?”  The Eye had shrunk down into a tiny puppy, and even Jason had to admit he looked freaking adorable.  He said as much as he picked up the coyote pup and cradled him in the crook of his arm. Jason was rewarded with an attempted lick to the face, and he couldn’t help but laugh.

“Stay like this forever.  No one will ever hate you.”

“Can I come with you on patrol tonight?”  The Eye had the gall to wag his stubby puppy tail.

“Not like this, you’re not,” Jason resisted the look the Eye gave him, with the larger than normal sad-puppy eyes that pulled at heartstrings Jason didn't even know he had.  He couldn’t help but scratch behind it's ears.

“Why not?”  The Eye whined.

“Because the internet won’t shut up about the Red Hood and his animal sidekicks, that’s why.  How am I supposed to be a credible crime lord if I’m seen hanging out all the time with cute animals?  I mean, Lizzy can’t help but be a goat, but you on the other hand. _Come on_.  That time you showed up as a rabbit?  And then the sheep?”

“I was a ram!” The Eye protested.

“And that one time you were an actual, literal robin that kept landing on my shoulder?”

“Ok. I get it. You want stealth mode. How about this?”  The Eye squirmed out of his arms, and morphed a little larger and grew darker.  So dark that all Jason could see, even in the daylight, was a black depthless silhouette of a large coyote, yellow eyes, and a creepy-as-hell cheshire grin.

“Well that _is_ kinda cool. Maybe.”

“Yes!”  The Eye did a black flip, and popped back into Jason's boy-form to give him a high five.  Jason laughed despite himself. Maybe having having a mini-me wasn't so bad after all.

The Eye had its quirks though.  He was often child-like and mischievous, and would tease and play tricks, albeit good naturedly, much like the trickster it claimed to be, but it had a sort of guileless sincerity as well.  When Jason had presented him with the second dog bed, he had been afraid that the Eye would take it the wrong way, that Jason was treating him as _only_ an animal, but the Eye had seemed genuinely touched.

“Wow. I don’t know what to say.  This is great,” he blushed and gave Jason a warm smile.  “I don't even know the last time someone's given me something thoughtful.  I guess… I got used to people just treating me like I'm not a real person.”

It was just a dog bed.  Jason had bought it just to make the Eye more comfortable when it switched into a coyote in deference to Jason.  It was only fair, but then he remembered the Eye had been enslaved for thousands of years, and before that he didn't really know.  Maybe that meant the Eye wasn't as sure of its place in the world as it seemed to project, and perhaps he had settled on two main forms because it was what he himself was comfortable with.  

“You're real.  A real person, I mean,” Jason assured him.  “I know you're real.”

“Thanks.”  The Eye settled the dog bed in the corner by Lizzy’s, shifting into a smallish coyote to settle inside it.  He seemed happy, and Jason found he wanted to try his best to keep him that way. He was still figuring out this strange partnership, but he knew he didn't want a servant or a slave in the Eye.  Jason was terrible at friendships, but he could at least try, and if he was accepting help from the mysterious entity, the very least Jason could do was treat him with respect.

It occurred to Jason that he was not the only one who had suffered incredible damage -- that the Eye himself was among the walking wounded.  None of the bats were without their own terrible scars either... it was practically a trademark of the bat family, and they all found different ways to cope, healthy or unhealthy.  In that respect, the Eye fit right in, and he had chosen to cope by helping Jason move forward. But… perhaps they could _both_ play the role of the wounded healer.  Perhaps they could find a way back to themselves through each other.

There was no doubt in Jason's mind that the Eye was already helping.  He still couldn't remember everything, but the snippets he could call up were clearer and surfacing more often.  Though occasionally he was still triggered into panic attacks, none of them had sent him into prolonged catatonia.  He still struggled with managing his emotions, his depression, and working through the trauma, but Jason _was_ feeling better than he had been in a long time.  He felt less out of control, less like he was teetering on the precipice of despair.  It was still an upward battle, but at least he could see the path forward now. He was functional thanks in no small part to the Eye.

He deserved more than respect for that. He had Jason's eternal gratitude, and Jason wanted to somehow return the favor.  The dog bed was nominal, but it was a start. And maybe in the end, the most helpful thing Jason could do was to treat him like he was more than just a tool or an endless series of projected illusions.  Maybe what the Eye needed the most was simply to be treated like he was a real person.

//////////////////////////////

Inevitably, the question of Jason’s ongoing magical training was raised.  Jason hadn’t seen John since he disappeared out of the Uintah Basin, and Jason hadn’t been able to get a hold of him through the normal channels either.  The Eye had insisted he would step in to help Jason to continue his training.

“You’re not in the clear, Jason,” the Eye was almost apologetic.  “You're still in danger, and the Lord Dreaming was clear that protecting you was another condition of my stay in the waking.”

They were sitting in an old 50s style diner -- Swilly’s, one of Jason's old haunts in Crime Alley -- having an early breakfast on a Monday morning.  It was a typical greasy spoon, but the food was good, coffee decent, and Jason had found that the Eye simply enjoyed people watching whenever Jason took him out.  Modern urban living was still novel and fascinating for him, despite him having lifted Jason's boy-persona for his own. Jason found he didn't mind the appropriation of his visage so much as he did before, and it was fun to observe the Eye observing others as they finished their breakfast.

He was quietly serious at the moment though, and he had diverted his gaze from surreptitiously marveling at the giggling baby with her young mother in the booth across to look back at Jason.

The Eye leaned in, elbows on the table that was just a little too tall for his short frame, and in a hushed voice, “You killed the elder skinwalkers, but some of them fled the basin.  They're probably too weak now to come looking for you themselves, but they were tipped off about you by someone else in the first place. Others will come. It's only a matter of time.”

“So I still need to train."  Jason learned back into the back of the booth with a sigh.  “I need to know how to fight them off.”

“Yeah,” the Eye affirmed.  “I’ll protect you, but it's better if you can learn to protect yourself.”

Jason still didn't like it, but he liked being protected even less, and he had been through enough possession not to argue.  He never wanted to feel that horrible darkness violating his mind again. He never wanted to be manipulated and controlled, and though he would accept the protection the Eye offered for now, ultimately Jason needed to be self-sufficient.

Jason didn’t doubt that the Eye could teach him plenty, after all it was he who had crafted the elaborate beginnings of the blood machine in the first place, but Jason also felt a sense of loyalty to John.  He couldn't explain it exactly, but he knew he didn't want to proceed without talking to John first. The problem was he couldn’t even get ahold of him. The magician had seemingly gone to ground, and it left Jason feeling oddly disappointed for some reason.  He didn't blame John for what happened with the skinwalkers, though the rest of the bats did, but Jason still wanted to see him. He had grown to enjoy his lackadaisical humor and rebellious attitude. He had appreciated the fact that John never judged him, and he had helped him accept possibilities about himself that he was originally loathe to.  They had had fun together. Jason had thought that they were friends.

The Eye didn't push it any further when Jason failed to form any sort of committal response, but he did manage a disapproving scowl at Jason as they both finished their breakfasts.  Had Jason looked like that when he was young? It was almost comical in how much the Eye seemed to mimic one of Alfred’s own reprimanding looks with Jason’s own child-face.

Eventually the Eye went back to people watching, and he suddenly brightened as a figure approached from behind Jason and then slipped in beside him into the booth.  It was Tim. And he nearly flopped his face into Jason’s toast with how tired he looked.

“Coffee,” he managed to call out to a passing waitress.

“ _Please_.  Coffee _please_.” Jason appended, doing his best to give the waitress an apologetic look.  She was an older, somewhat portly, middle-aged woman who had probably seen it all at this point.  She merely arched a brow and nodded. As soon as she was out of earshot, Jason turned back to Tim.  “Wow, Timmers, you’ve perfected the model for bad manners as well as bad sleep hygiene. What would Alfie say?”

“Ugh sorry,” Tim had put his head down into the crook of his arm on the table, and he groaned as he raised his head slightly to shoot an irritated look at Jason.  “Normally I’d have a comeback for that, but I need caffeine first.”

The waitress showed up and plopped down a cup of coffee and took Tim’s order.

“Seriously Tim,” Jason nudged him again.  “You look like a flat tire.”

“Yeah, like a bicycle,” added the Eye, “because you're _two tired_.”

“Totally deflated,” Jason continued.  “What happened to all your hot air Timmy?”

“It came out with all that _exhaust_ ,” the Eye giggled.

“Are you going somewhere?  ‘Cause those are some serious bags under your eyes.”  Jason was _on a roll_.

“Maybe they're sleeping bags,” the Eye supplied.

“Come on, genius,” Jason flicked Tim’s head with his fingers, “even most computers have an auto-sleep feature.  Maybe you should check yours.”

“Yeah,” the Eye snickered. “There’s probably even a _nap_ for that.”

“Oh my god, stop!  I get it!” Tim sat up and covered his face with his hands.  "Jason, your jokes are the absolute the worst. And now it's like… like there are two of you!  Because there _are_!  Someone save me!  Where's Dick when you need him?”

“He’s at home, sleeping in after _working_ all night, just like you should be.”  Teasing aside, Jason was slightly concerned.  Though he found he didn't mind his ‘little brother’ showing up out of the blue so much these days, he hadn't expected Tim to just crash his breakfast booth unprompted.  Tim was probably here for a reason, but he looked dead on his feet (or rather, the table) and when his food came he practically inhaled it like a starving man. _At least he was eating_ , thought Jason.  Tim had a tendency to overwork to extremes, almost as badly as Bruce, so he probably hadn't eaten properly the day before.

“Seriously Tim, go home.”  Jason tried his best to channel Dick’s voice of brotherly concern. “What are you even doing here?  Were you looking for me?”

Tim rolled his eyes.  “Do _not_ try and mother me.  Dick is bad enough. Besides, I _was_ on my way home, but I was starving and this is the only place that's open with decent food this part of town.  Plus I saw you in the window. I have something for you.”

He dug around in his pockets and pulled something out onto the table.  It looked like some kind of wrist band, with a sleek matte black finish that made it subtle and unobtrusive.  

“You mentioned you wanted a wearable a while back,” Tim fiddled with the strap, undoing the clasp and handing it over to Jason.  “It's a special hybridized metal carbide. It should withstand the heat and impact of shell casings, minor explosions and whatnot.  I’ve loaded the intel you asked for on the mercs working for the White Whale too. I uh… I wouldn’t test it out here, if you know what I mean.”

He did.  The wearable was probably loaded with experimental tech that would raise unwanted attention if Jason activated it in the middle of a Crime Alley diner.  Instead, he fastened the strap around his wrist and pulled his sleeve down over it. “Thanks, Tim. Though I take it you’ve also loaded it with trackers?”

“Are you kidding?”  Tim wasn’t even trying to deny it.  “After all the trouble you get into, I’m not giving you anything that _doesn’t_ have trackers.  I know what you’re thinking, so the default setting is disabled, but the functionality is there for when you do get into trouble.”

 _When_ , not _if_.  It should have bothered him more.  More than a year ago it would have had Jason throwing the thing out the window first chance he got, but it wasn't like the bats couldn't regularly find him nowadays.  He lived with Dick for chrissakes. All they needed to do was knock on his door. If they actually needed to track him, it would probably be because he was in real trouble.  He would still try and deconstruct the programming to see how it worked as much as possible, but he resigned himself to leave it intact. Just in case.

The waitress ambled over again to refill their coffee.  “You boys all done?” She gave the Eye a wink. “Well aren't you adorable?  You’re the spitting image of your older brother. Lucky you.”

The Eye flashed her a hundred-watt smile.  “He’s my brother from another mother,” he said proudly.

“And father,” Tim mumbled.  He stared into his coffee, but couldn't hide the slight upturn at the corner of his mouth.

“Well I'm not sure how _that_ works.”  The waitress turned to Tim, mildly humored as she refilled his mug.  “You're cute too, hun, but you look like you could sleep for a week. Maybe you shouldn't drink so much coffee.”

Tim was a little too old to make pouting cute, but he managed a slight blush of the cheeks before he collected himself and replied politely, “You're right ma'am.  I’ll go home right after this.”

He tucked a wad of cash that was probably several times their bill into the guest check holder as soon as the waitress walked away, and then leaned back into his seat and sighed.  “Well, some of us can only be in one place at a time, and with so much to do…. we can't all have the luxury of being a _Mason.”_

“A what?”  Jason perked at the word.

“A mini-Jason,” Tim clarified.  “Mason for short.”

 _Mason._  It was weird.  That was the alias Constantine had given him so many weeks ago when Jason had gotten shit-faced drunk.  Before he even knew the Eye existed. It felt like ages ago… and looking back on that night… it had actually been fun.  He missed John. That was a sobering thought in itself.

That name though.  Mason. It was a strange coincidence, but then again when it came to John, a coincidence was often an omen of things to come.  If only he had known, maybe things might not have gotten so out of control. At the same time, he might have ended up worse off than he was.  There were far worse things than sitting in a diner, having breakfast with his mini-clone and his replacement. In fact, he had been quite enjoying their banter, especially the part where they were teasing Tim.  He had felt content for the first time in a long while.

Beside him, the Eye had a thoughtful expression on his face, contemplating the moniker before breaking into a grin.  “I like it. It can be my new codename."

“It's not a codename,” Jason tutted.  “It's just a name.”

“Maybe it's both?”  Tim suggested. “We can't just keep calling him ‘The Eye’ can we?”

“Sure you can,” the Eye said cheerfully.  “That's my name.”

“Whatever,” Tim yawned.

“Go get some sleep, Timmy.  You need it.” Jason resisted the idea that Dick’s maternal instincts were rubbing off on him, but if Tim was allowed to put trackers in his watch, well then it was only right that he should show brotherly concern in return.  “You can even crash at ours. We still have a spare room.”

“I can help you sleep if you want,” the Eye offered.

“Oh god, please no,”  Tim pushed himself up.  “I’m already gonna have nightmares about your awful puns.  I’ll catch you later. And Jason, don't take out the Odessa mob without me.”

Jason watched him leave before he glanced sidelong at the Eye.  “Are you thinking what I'm thinking?”

“That he’s just gonna go home and work some more?”  The Eye mused knowingly, and then a sly smirk curved the edge of his mouth.  “How about I secretly follow him home and help him pass out?”

“Do it.  Make sure he gets in bed and sleeps at least eight hours.”  Jason didn't even hesitate. Tim would work himself to exhaustion, which was why Alfred regularly drugged him.  This was better. Tim wouldn't wake up with a sedative hangover and he was guaranteed a decent sleep. Having a powerful mini-me dream entity aligned with Jason's thinking certainly had its unintended perks.

“Done!”  The Eye jumped up and disappeared out the door after Tim.

Yep.  There were definitely worse things than having a mini-clone and younger brothers.  Jason found that at the moment, he really didn't mind having either of them in the least.

//////////////////////////////

John turned up a few days later when Essence dumped him on the rooftop of their apartment. Jason had been taking a smoke break, when he suddenly heard a thunk and an “oof" sound from behind him.  He spun around to see Essence hovering a few feet off the ground with John on his hands and knees below her.

It wasn't unusual for Essence to turn up out of the blue like this.  She had been checking in on him semi-regularly, though less frequently since his leg fully healed.  What she did and where she disappeared to when she left, Jason didn't really know. He hadn't asked and Essence hadn't enlightened him.  Back when they had been _together,_ their dynamic had been much the same.  There were some things that Jason just didn't want to know, and after they separated, she popped in and out of his life at whim.

“Hey, watch it!” John muttered as he picked himself up.  “Leave a bloke some dignity, will ya?”

Essence simply ignored him, and instead addressed Jason directly.  “I was told that you refused to continue your training until you sorted yourself with the magician.”  She gave John a hard shove that toppled him onto hands and knees again. “Your loyalty is misplaced, but speak with him as you must.”  She took a step back and disappeared in a swirl of smoke.

“Jeezus,” John dusted off his trench coat.  “What’d you do to crack all that ice off your ol’ bint? She musta be somethin’ wild between the sheets, all that bottled up aggression eh?”

Jason ignored the lewd comments, and immediately crossed an arm over his middle, his other arm holding his cigarette down to his side. He belatedly realized he had unconsciously adopted a defensive position as he spoke.  “John, where the hell have you been?” It came out more needy than Jason had been intending, but he couldn't keep the frustration in any longer after weeks and weeks without any response from the man.

“Hell’s just about right,” John snatched the cigarette from between Jason's fingers and took a drag.  “Your little bleeding nightmare tantrum didn't exactly go unnoticed. Zee’s kept Nanda Parbat from being torn apart, but who do ya think’s been trying to keep the dark forces from tearing apart the _veil_ trying to find you?”

“You're saying you've been gone because you've been what, protecting me?”  Jason wasn’t sure he believed it… but there was probably a ring of truth to it.  The Eye had mentioned that there could be things coming for him as well.

“There were rumors about you before.  Now the buzz’s only gotten louder.” John took another long drag from Jason’s cigarette, puffing out a series of smoke rings that layered into concentric circles.  It looked vaguely like a target. “You’ve really no idea do you?”

“No idea about what?”

“How much work it's taken to keep the bogeymen off your tail.  You think ol’ Dreamy just sits on his fancy chair all day? You think your mouthy-eyed friend hasn’t been watching dream-side for any sign someone’s got info about you?  You think your gal pal Essence isn’t doing her best wake-side to quash any hint of what you just did? Even dear old Batdad’s been busy -- he’s the one that found your mini-me in the first place.”

Jason frowned.  He didn’t know what to think of that.  John lied, cheated and tricked to get what he wanted, but it wasn’t like he was playing up the danger in order to get closer to Jason.  The man had been purposefully avoiding him in fact, and Jason already knew the danger was real. It just didn't sink in until now the degree to which others had been shielding him.

Even though he couldn't recall the details, he had known that Dream was protecting him, and though it had been a revelation that Bruce and Essence had intentionally sought out the Black Pearl for him, it wasn't all that surprising in hindsight given Bruce's overbearingly controlling tendencies and Essence’s stalking nature.  And now even John was implying that he’d been MIA because he too had been busy dealing with the consequences of Jason's abilities being known.

“I'm not worth that kind of trouble,” Jason finally said.

“Don't really matter what you think, bruv,” John shrugged.  “‘Cause maybe some of us think you are. Or at least the other option of letting something evil get their hands on you’s much worse.”

“Oh… so you aren’t just… giving up on me?”  Jason felt stupid once he said it. Was he really that freaking _needy_ that he needed John Constantine to hold his hand when it came to magic?  But the words just came out, and he realized it was the truth. He had felt _abandoned_ by John.  Jason had gotten used to his presence before everything went to shit in the Basin.  John had made him feel comfortable in a way the bats hadn't -- he didn't judge Jason or make him feel inadequate.  He didn't pretend like he was _better_ in any way.  He understood Jason’s hardened defenses were ingrained from growing up on the streets, because he had grown up on the rough side of town too.

John looked slightly shocked at Jason's words however.  “Christ! Is that what you think?”

Jason snorted, trying to cover up his embarrassment, though his cheeks felt hot.  Was it really so far fetched? Kory had walked away from him and the Outlaws, not bothering to ever look back.  Roy seemed to have just _forgotten_ about him, moving on with the Titans as if he didn't even exist.  John would just have been the latest in a short string of friends who eventually figured out he wasn't worth their time.  Not to mention his deadbeat dad, everyone who ever claimed to be his mother… and Bruce. He tried to stifle the heat of tears that threatened to sting his eyes.  Thinking about it hurt more than he expected.

John seemed to notice his discomfort and tried to recover.  “Er.. uh… sorry kid. Didn't mean it like that. I admit, I wasn’t keen on getting chewed out by your family after that royal fuck-up in the basin, but me being gone wasn’t about you.”  John took a final drag on the cigarette he’d nicked from Jason, sucking down to the filter before dropping it onto the rooftop and stamping it out with his foot. “If anything, this is about me.  We knew this training business with me was temporary. I’m no teacher. I’m no guide. I ruin everythin’ and everyone gets near me. Heck, ‘twas my stickin’ you with blood magic that nearly got you killed.  I helped you put a gun to your own fuckin’ head!”

Jason sighed.  He got why Dick and the others were mad, the whole suicide thing didn't go down well, but he didn't hold it against John.  “You did what I asked you to do. I might not be here if you hadn't helped me.”

John just shook his head.  “I’m no good for anybody.”

“So that’s it then?”  Jason was crestfallen.  “You're still leaving.”

“You’re better off with that Eye.  Believe me kid. I’ll be around, but not twenty-four seven like he can.  You got me number if anything comes up, or you can get your ex-girlfriend to drop me in again.  All your exes are bloody nutjobs,” John muttered. “Speakin’ of which,” he waved a hand vaguely behind him, and Jason felt it too.  A slight prickle under his skin that indicated the presence of Essence.

“Don’t get your knickers in a bunch,” John called out as she coalesced into solid form.  “I was just ‘bout leaving.”

Essence merely crossed her arms, shooting John a scowl as she floated closer until she hovered several feet out of arm's reach.  John snapped his fingers, and a dimensional doorway appeared. He reached out to open it, but Jason put a hand out to stop him.

“John, wait.”  His throat felt oddly tight, and there was an awkward pause as he tried to figure out what he wanted to say.   _Goodbye_ was too final… _see you soon_ too presumptive.

“Just… thanks,” Jason finally settled on.

“Sure, kid.”  John clapped a hand over his briefly, before stepping away to open the door.  “I'd say stay outta trouble, but I know you won't.” He gave a sly wink with a click of his tongue, and was gone.

“Did you sort your business with Constantine?”  Essence drifted to stand beside him.

“As much as anyone can sort anything with John,” Jason sighed, trying to push all remaining thoughts of John from his head and refocusing on Essence.  “I should have said it earlier, but thank you to you too, for what you did. You nearly died saving me.”

“You would have done the same for me.”  She stated it matter-of-factly and Jason hoped that was true.  Essence was one of the first people he had connected with after he was resurrected.  They had had their differences though, so he hadn’t expected that level of confidence from her.

“Maybe,” Jason met her dark stare, “but I didn't realize what else you might've been doing for me too.  Are you okay with this? With serving Dream? If you're not, I'll talk to him….”

"That is not necessary, Jason,” Essence put a hand gently on his cheek.  “I have come to appreciate the advantages of having such a benefactor. He asks relatively little in exchange for power and your protection, which I would do regardless.”  She leaned in and kissed him lightly on the cheek, “Nevertheless, thank you for the offer.”

“What will you do now?” Jason asked.

“What will _you_ do now?” she replied.

“Keep training. I guess.  With the Eye. And keep doing what I'm doing.  Fighting to make this city better. He's here, all the time helping me, so I can do both.”

“Good.”  Essence withdrew slowly as Jason heard the access door to the rooftop open -- Dick was coming up.  Essence didn't seem bothered, didn't even glance at him as he stepped into view.  She was probably invisible to him. “I will return,” the words drifted into a whisper as she dissipated into smoke.

Dick crossed the roof, glancing up and around, scanning the horizon as he moved.  He was dressed casually in a slightly baggy and mismatched sweatsuit. It was looser than Dick’s usual attire though, and Jason recognized his own clothes on Dick's somewhat leaner frame.

Dick gave him a wry smile as he closed the final few steps to stand beside him, giving Jason an inquisitive glance.  His stance was casual, shoulders down, leaning most of his weight to one side as he jutted his hip, but there was something about it that was almost deliberative.  If Jason hadn’t spent so much time watching Dick’s movements he wouldn’t have noticed, but it was almost like Dick was being a little too intentional about being at ease, so much that the opposite was trickling through -- there was an undercurrent of agitation corded underneath.  

“The Eye said you were up here _communing with the competition_.  Should I be worried?”  On the surface, the lilt in Dick’s voice was teasing, but his tone was just a little too tight and sharp.  The Eye had tipped him off to John and Essence’s presence, and for some reason, Dick was worked up about it.

Jason was slightly annoyed at the Eye’s attempts at causing mischief.  He rolled his eyes, waving a hand as if to physically dismiss the very notion.  The idea of Dick vying against John or Essence was ridiculous. “Don’t be stupid.  You don't have any competition.”

“Really?  Sometimes… I dunno.”  Dick didn't meet his gaze.  It was near evening now, the sun was starting to set, and Dick stared fixedly at the skyline, and then at his feet.  He looked… insecure? Jason didn't think that was possible. Dick Grayson was usually the epitome of self-confidence.

“I'm not sure sometimes,” Dick continued, a dark melancholy creeping into his tone.  “Do you remember the sunrise on the balcony?”

Jason nodded.  He had woken that morning to find Dick already up and out of bed.  He hadn't brought it up, so Jason assumed he didn't remember. It seemed he assumed wrong.

“The things there,” Dick closed his eyes, remembering.  “On the other side… in the Dreaming… it's pure fantasy. The Gotham skyline looks so drab in comparison.  I guess sometimes I wonder if what you see here… I wonder if it's enough.”

“What… what are you talking about?”  Jason stammered, confused. “Enough for what?”

“The details are fuzzy,” Dick went on, “but I get it now -- why you’re always looking for it… the Dreaming, I mean.  It's not so much that you're looking for something that's not there, because it is, but just out of your reach. It’s like you're remembering a feeling more than anything.  Like looking at a photograph. It doesn't quite capture the beauty of the real thing.” Dick fidgeted with the hem of his sleeve. He looked sullen, almost dejected. “I know why you miss it now.  It was beautiful. Nothing here comes close in comparison.”

It finally dawned on Jason what Dick was getting at -- he wasn't talking about the stupid sunrise, he was talking about himself.  Did Dick think that he didn't measure up to the fantasy of the Dreaming? That he couldn't _compete_ somehow?  

Apparently he did, because that was exactly what he had said: _Nothing here comes close in comparison._ Jason was baffled at the honest confession.  It hadn't occurred to him that Dick might still needed some assurance on where he stood with Jason after everything that happened.  In Jason's mind there was no question, but he should have made it more clear.

“You're wrong,” Jason finally found his voice.  He reached out to pull Dick into his arms and leaned in, touching their foreheads together as he looked into the brilliant blue of his eyes.  Like looking into endless skies, where he could find promises of endless hope and endless love. “If I seem… distracted, it's because I’m really, really fucked up.  It has nothing to do with you having competition. You’re wrong about nothing comparing to the Dreaming, because it's the other way around. There’s nothing in this world, Dreaming or not, that compares to _you_.”

Dick didn't answer immediately, but a slow smile broke across his face.  A smile that far outshone the setting sun, eclipsing the dull blue-green and yellow of the horizon.  “Well, I suppose I can't argue with good taste,” a hint of cockiness returning to his mien.

That was the Dick Grayson that Jason recognized.  The Dick Grayson that beat back trauma after trauma and somehow managed to never let the ugliness overwhelm his soul.  Shining like a light in the darkness. As long as Jason had Dick, he had hope that he could find his way out of the darkness too.

They met each other in a kiss, a warm press of lips that was sweet and almost chaste.  His skin tingled, heightened and responsive to the tiny motion of Dick’s fingers gently stroking along his back. Jason closed his eyes, reveling in the feel of Dick pressed against him, nuzzling against his hair before Dick pulled back slightly and exhaled a sigh.  They stood there, silent and still, as the last of the sun’s rays sank below the horizon.

Dick continued to smile in the dimming twilight as he lifted his arms to wrap around Jason's shoulders.  Jason let out a long sigh as well, relaxing into an unfamiliar, but not unwelcome, feeling -- he felt at peace.

 _Dum spiro, spero.  While I breathe, I hope._ Constantine's words drifted back into Jason's mind, but it didn't seem quite right.  He wasn't alone. He hadn't been for a while now. He had Dick, and he had his family, Essence, the Dreaming… even John to an extent.  It took a second as he recalled the Latin lessons that Bruce had instilled in him to conjugate the phrase:

_Dum spiramus, speramus._

While _we_ breathe, _we_ hope.


	20. Epilogue

~~~~~ Bruce ~~~~~  

Bruce was dreaming.  He knew because he was getting better at recognizing the signs, and had developed a reliable set of triggers that allowed him to more easily become lucid.  He could tell right now by the way his vision seemed to go a little fuzzy at the edges, as if everything he looked at was a picture with a vignette border. He was standing in a familiar alleyway in Crime Alley, the batmobile parked beside him, but the “tell” was that every time he looked at it, it was a little bit different.  The proportions changed slightly, the color shifting from black to dark gray and back. The red neon of nearby lights glinted against the opaque windows, illuminating the dim alleyway in a soft red glow.

He had also devised a symbolic totem that could validate whether it was truly a dream -- a bead from his mother's pearls.  He kept it with him constantly, pristine and secure in his utility belt in the waking, but it always appeared covered in blood in his dreams.  

He pulled it from his belt now.  It was bloody.

The red neon of the lights flickered, and when Bruce turned back to look at the batmobile, there was another figure standing beside it.  Tall and clad in varying shades of dark gray, brown leather jacket, red bat emblazoned on his chest and wearing a red helmet. The Red Hood.  Menacing and indomitable to criminals and heroes alike, but at the moment Bruce didn’t feel threatened or alarmed. This was his son. This was Jason.

“How are you, Jason?”  Bruce called out, and Jason relaxed his stance and pulled off his helmet.  He ran a hand through his dark hair as he stepped closer. His face was bare -- he hadn't donned a secondary domino mask -- and his expression was calm, with a hint of amusement as he spoke.

“You wanted to meet in the Dreaming just to ask me _that_?”  He said drolly. “You could have just asked in the waking.”

“I _have_ ,” Bruce consciously tempered his tone.  “You always say you're fine, even when you’re not.  And I know you find it _difficult_ to tell me when you aren't.  You seem to have an easier time being honest with me here.”  

Jason made to protest that statement, but Bruce headed him off.  “It's not just you. It's me as well. You _know_ I'm not good at this.  I'm trying, but we’ve had more productive conversations when we both have access to our full memories in the Dreaming.”

Jason stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets, glancing away briefly as he shrugged his shoulder.  Bruce took it as a subtle agreement, but Jason still seemed reticent. “I thought you just asked the Eye,” he said with unconcealed sarcasm.  His tone wasn't quite as bitter as Bruce expected, but it was petulant, like how a child would be upset about being told on. “Doesn't he report back on me for you?  I thought that was part of the deal you made.”

Bruce was unsurprised that Jason knew the details of their agreement.  He hadn’t expected the Eye to keep the particulars from Jason, but whether it was volunteered or if Jason had asked, he didn’t know.  Nevertheless, even with regular updates from the Eye, Bruce needed assurance of Jason’s wellbeing first hand. “The Eye gives me general updates on your progress, but I want to hear it directly from _you_.  I worry about you.”

Jason seemed slightly taken aback by Bruce’s bluntness.  They were both still getting used to being open with each other, and it was likely that in the waking their conversation would have already stalled with one or both of them shutting down.  However, as Bruce expected, they were both less hindered by entrenched emotional barriers in the Dreaming.

Jason glanced away again as he responded.  “You don't have to worry about me.”

“Yes, I do.”  Bruce felt saddened that he had to explain this again.  “You're my son.”

“It hasn't always felt that way.”

“I know.  I'm trying to change that.”

Silence.  Jason didn’t seem to know how to respond, and Bruce simply waited.

“I'm okay,” Jason finally said.  “Really. I'm working through… things.  I'm not where I want to be yet, but I’m better.”

“That's good,” Bruce said with relief.  “I'm glad to hear it.”

There was another quiet pause, though less tense.  Jason shifted his weight from foot to foot, looking anywhere but back at Bruce.  He uncrossed his arms and balled his fists, and then loosened them again. He was working up the nerve to say something, and Bruce waited again.

At last, Jason looked up, and Bruce noted how young he looked.  How vulnerable he seemed when he let down his guard and Bruce could see emotions warring across his face.  There was so much of the boy still in him that Bruce remembered from Jason’s Robin days. It was probably why the Eye chose that particular form as one of his mainstays.  It made Bruce remember. The Eye was making sure that Bruce didn’t forget.

When Jason spoke, his voice was softer and more quiet than Bruce had heard in a long time.  “I might never get to a place in the waking where I can remember everything without punching you in the face or having a fucking meltdown, but I want you to know, Bruce.  I'm sorry.”

“I told you before,” Bruce responded as gently as he could, “you don't need to apologize.”

“I'm not apologizing,” Jason shook his head.  “Not really. I'm just trying to tell you how I feel.”

Oh.  Bruce searched for the right words, but he couldn’t find them.  His throat felt tight.

“I wish things were different,” Jason continued, “but they aren't.  I’m learning to accept that.” Jason let out a sigh and closed his eyes briefly.  When he opened them again, something in his expression changed. There was a lightness and warmth that Bruce hadn’t seen in a long time.  “The Dreaming isn’t just about nightmares. It's… it's also about finding peace. It's about having hope. I'm still figuring it out, but I want that for you too, Bruce.”

“I… that means a lot, Jason.  Thank you.”

Jason gave him a soft smile, and Bruce smiled back.

In the background, gunshots rang out, followed by shouting.  Bruce had to forcibly restrain himself from responding, reminding himself that it wasn’t real, that this was the Dreaming.

Beside him, Jason sighed.  “Looks like I better go. I’m still affecting the Nightmare too much.  I shouldn’t stay here or it’ll get out of control.”

Bruce nodded, and before he could let his habitual emotional restraint get the better of him, he pulled Jason into a quick embrace.  He wanted Jason to know he loved him, no matter what.

Bruce let go, and Jason backed away, a little flustered and embarrassed, but he was smiling. “I'll see you later, B.  I’m not entirely sure I'll remember this conversation, but thanks.”

Jason turned and waved as he disappeared down the alley.

//////////////////////////////

Bruce woke, but kept his eyes closed as he mentally ran through the dream in his head again, ensuring that the conversation with Jason would be fully committed to long-term memory.  When he finally blinked open his eyes, it was dark. The curtains of his bedroom were drawn, but he could see a faint line of light peeking along the edges of the windows.

“Did you get to talk to him?” A voice sounded from beside the bed, and Bruce turned to see faintly glowing yellow eyes, and the vague outline of an enormous hulking canine seated on its haunches.  It was the Eye.

“What are you doing here?”  Bruce grumbled, slightly irritated at it's presence.

“Well, you asked me to set up a meeting with Jason… so I did,” the Eye turned his snout upward, and managed to roll it's eyes even in it's coyote form.  “It's not as easy as you think it is. There are barriers between dreaming minds for a reason. I needed to have some proximity to both of you so a vortex wouldn't form.  So how did it go?”

“Don’t you already know?”  Bruce rolled himself out of bed, stepping around the Eye toward his dresser.

“Not unless you want me to.  I made sure you guys could connect, like you asked me to do, but you also asked for privacy.”

“Hnnn,” he grunted noncommittally.  The truth was he hadn’t been sure the Eye would follow through on its promises, but so far it had.  It was also entirely possible it was simply lying and merely keeping up the pretense of having a limited consciousness.  Regardless, the Eye acted as if it didn't know, and Bruce felt relieved, though he wasn’t going to say so.

“They’re going to be here soon.”  The Eye stood up, it's enormous head nearly touching the ceiling as he moved toward the door.  “I’ll meet you downstairs?”

“Yes,” Bruce said curtly, and the Eye pawed open his door and sauntered out.

Bruce cleaned up and made his way downstairs to _get dressed_ \-- as Batman -- before entering the main area of the cave.  The Eye was there, this time in Robin-form, as well as Tim and Essence.  They were talking quietly, Tim had already brought up a map on the screen and was explaining a set of readings to Essence and the Eye.

“Good, you’ve already started,” Bruce said as he walked onto the central platform.  “As you already know, I asked you here for a specific reason. What happened in the Basin might not be an isolated occurrence.  When Essence and I began the search for the Eye, there were two main candidate sites. We found the Eye in the Uintah Basin, but there was a second site that showed similar readings, though with less activity.”

Tim nodded as he tapped a few buttons, and a series of overlays appeared on the map.  “Right,” he said. “The epicenter of these readings is this site in central Australia.  The activity has been minimal, but there was a spike around the same time we were all trapped in the basin.  The mythology of the local peoples has also long spoken of the ‘dream time.’ There could be another missing dreamstone here,” Tim conjectured.

“There could be another _threat_ to Jason,” Bruce added.

“You want us to investigate,” Essence clarified.

“Yes,” Bruce confirmed, “but this time, we need to be prepared.  We need more research, more analysis, more personnel, and more risk assessment before we go in.  Tim, run the data through the additional waveform analyses. Essence, I need you to do additional reconnaissance, but do not approach beyond the outer radius.  The Eye will send one of his forms to accompany as backup. Any questions?”

“Just one,” Tim held up a hand.  “What do we tell Jason?”

Bruce turned toward the Eye.  He knew what the answer was, but he wanted the Eye to verify.

“Nothing for now,” the Eye confirmed.  “We can’t risk letting Jason get close to it until we’re sure what it is.  His ability is still too volatile and he doesn’t have any more control than he did a few weeks ago.”

“Then it's settled.  We will bring Jason in if and when we have solid information that affects him,” Bruce finalized.  “You all have your assignments. Go.”

The others departed, and Bruce settled into his chair in front of the computer, queuing up the data packets for Tim to be further analyzed.  He had failed Jason far too many times than he would like to count. He wouldn’t let that happen again. This time, he would protect his son, no matter what.

 

_End._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * Did you see that Inception reference? Did you??? 
>   * Please please please please PLEASE leave a comment/kudos and tell me what you think! I hope you don’t mind the drawn out ending -- sometimes I just feel like resolutions get short changed, so I wanted to write enough to show that Jason and Dick have gotten to a good place, and that Jason is equipped to healing and rebuilding his place in the family. 
>   * So... a couple people have asked if I plan on continuing this series… and the answer is… not at the moment…. At the same time, I am firmly of the belief that we need more long, plotty and most importantly, smutty, Jay/Dick fics in the world, so I’m thinking about it, but plotting something like this is really, REALLY hard, and I’m not going to post anything that I’m not 100% confident that I can finish and be up to a level of writing that I’m satisfied with. Right now, I’m just not there. It's kind of like when people ask me if I want to have more kids, and I’m like, “oh I would loove another baby, they’re so cute and adorable! But noooooooooooooo waaaay sooooo much work!” And I have like a full time job, and a bunch of pets, and and and and… Life is hard wouldn’t you know? BUT, that doesn’t mean I won’t in the future. I think for now, I just need a break. When I started writing this, I had no idea this fic, or the series taken together would be this long. 
>   * Do tell me if you would like to see more though. Maybe it will even give me ideas. What do you want to see if there was a part 4? I was also thinking I might explore some short one-shots in the future, maybe a Lizzy the Goat special? Haha. leave a comment and let me know :) 
>   * I’m definitely NOT giving up on these boys or the fandom though, I actually have another shorter fic I’ve already started, just not in this AU :) Please check back and keep an eye out. I will need some recovery time after writing this beast, but I’m still writing! 
>   * THANKS again to everyone who stuck with this story. I really appreciate all the comments and kudos anyone has left as well! THANK YOU! 
> 



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